


They'll See How Beautiful I Am and Be Ashamed

by thecriminologist



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Canon Era, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Sexual Assault, Sexual Slavery, Slave Trade, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-04-28 00:07:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5070229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecriminologist/pseuds/thecriminologist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where all known mutants are registered as slaves.  Erik is a sex slave who is purchased for Charles by his senile uncle.  Charles is horrified at the thought of owning another mutant, but doesn't want worse to happen to Erik and agrees to take him in.  As Erik becomes comfortable in Charles' home, the two begin to plan how to help free other slaves and abolish the mutant slave trade.  Erik, finding himself legally free for the first time in decades, realizes he's powerless to leave Charles' side.  Many other canon character appearances.  Title by Langston Hughes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Charles

**Author's Note:**

> So, no promises on how frequently I update. Initially I'm hoping to do weekly/biweekly but I'm a college student and am at the mercy of a very erratic schedule. All mistakes are my own; I have no beta so I apologize in advance for errors. I'm planning for this to end up around 100k words but that's a rough number. It'll be long. It'll be told alternately in Charles and Erik's POV in 3rd person limited.

          Charles was renouncing his genetic family.  Not that there was much left to renounce, just Uncle Francis and a few distant aunts and cousins, but this was the final straw.  Everyone he was genetically related to had been batshit crazy and he was done with it.

          It had started a week ago when Uncle Francis had sent him his birthday gift.  For most people, birthday gifts from rich uncles were very good things.  For Charles, they were horrible.  Uncle Francis had met Charles when he’d turned five, taken one look at him, and declared him gay.  Uncle Francis himself was rather extravagantly homosexual, but Charles was just as firmly in the closet.  There was no place for a gay telepath in his mother’s life, and he couldn’t bear for her to hate him more than she already did.  She didn’t know about the gayness or the telepathy, just that Charles had been unwanted, ended her life as she knew it, as an attractive New York socialite about to travel the world as a flutist.  When Charles was born, all that ended, and she’d found herself trapped in the life of a mother, a role she’d never desired.  So Charles attempted to maintain a low profile, act the role of the perfect son to make his mother’s life a little easier.

          Her idea of the perfect son was a handsome, intelligent, witty athlete, not an awkward, bookish, gay telepath.  So Charles tried to hide all of that.

          Uncle Francis thought this was ridiculous.  He was Charles’ father’s brother, and had always looked down at his mother (particularly after she started drinking).  He thought she should love Charles for who he was, not who she wanted him to be.

          Charles didn’t have the heart to tell Uncle Francis that she would never love him, not even if he was the perfect son she wanted, and that he knew this for sure, had seen it in her thoughts every time she touched him or saw him or received his report cards or had to talk about him.

          Uncle Francis was reasonable enough not to out Charles directly.  Instead, he’d started with the gifts.  They’d been subtler, at first, feminine toys rather than trucks and trains like his mother bought him.  Charles had liked Uncle Francis’ gifts more than his own toys, but his mother had thrown them out.  The femininity of Uncle Francis’ gifts persisted into Charles’ teenage years, and he’d finally confronted his Uncle.

          “Isn’t that a little stereotypical, Uncle? To think that I’m gay merely because I’m not traditionally masculine?” He’d had this whispered telephone conversation in one of the large closets in an unused wing of the house, irony be damned.

          “Charles, you aren’t gay because you’re not masculine.  You’re just gay and not masculine.  And your mother shouldn’t act like that’s a bad thing, because it’s not.”  Uncle Francis had reassured him. “She’s rooted in old prejudice, Charles.  Don’t let her get to you.  Someone’s got to get you the things you actually want, and it sure as heck won’t be your frumpty old mother.  Now, I’ve got to go, but you enjoy your gifts and call me if you ever need to talk.”

          And so the gifts had kept coming.

          When Charles’ mother had died, they’d gotten more and more openly suggestive.  Uncle Francis had been becoming more senile than ever, and Charles had become more withdrawn and hidden than ever.  He was attending a fancy private school at the time, and he was already being bullied for being, well, himself.  Hopelessly nerdy and waifish.  And, alright, somewhat effeminate.  Having an uncle that was dead set on having you come out didn’t bode well for your social life.

          When Charles graduated school early, and then college and university, Uncle Francis had become crazier than ever.  Charles could feel his uncle’s mind slipping, the formerly rigid structure of his essence molding into something much more flimsy and changeable. 

          At the same time Charles had been growing up, deep in the closet as both gay and a mutant, the government had been cracking down on mutants.  When he was at Oxford, it had been slightly better with a more lenient (or at least disorganized) governmental policy on mutants, but when he’d returned to America he’d found it worse than ever before.  Mutant slavery had existed for years with the police turning a blind eye, markets located in shady areas that law enforcement never visited and pretended not to know of.  But now it was common place.  Seeing his previous schoolmates with mutant slaves, harming Charles’ own people, was much harder to bear.  Feeling the double hatred, of mutants and homosexuals, in the minds of everyone near to him took a toll on him.  Well, almost everyone.  Raven of course didn’t feel that way, and there were always a few hopeful pinpricks of love in the mass of hate.

          Uncle Francis didn’t have hatred either.  He didn’t hate mutants, but his mind was too far gone to understand the horrible side of slavery.  All of this culminated in a call to Charles on his twenty sixth birthday from his deranged uncle, informing him that he was to become the owner of his very own mutant slave.  A very handsome man, his uncle had assured him.  Charles had felt the old man’s reasoning in the crumbling structure of his mind: Uncle Francis thought Charles wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation of having a very aesthetically appealing slave living with him and would succumb to his sexual desires, and then would somehow realize that the best course for him was to come out.  The logic was as broken as his uncle’s mind.

          Nonetheless, Charles was to be the owner of a mutant slave.  He felt sick at the very thought.  If he wasn’t of the position he was born into and hadn’t had an invisible mutation that he controlled so well, he could have had the same fate of a life of servitude.  He felt sick at the very idea that another person would be his property by law.

          He called Raven immediately after he got off the phone with his uncle.  She would be rational as Charles himself went to pieces.

          She picked up on the first ring.

          “Charles!  I was just thinking of you, actually.  I was going to come visit for your birthday, because I figured you were probably holed up in the mansion, as usual, and that didn’t seem right.  I mean, I know you’re horribly ‘bookish’ and ‘solitary’ and whatnot, but-”  Charles cut her off.

          “Raven, Uncle Francis bought me a slave.  A human being.  And he’s supposed to arrive in three days, and I can’t own a _human being_.” The words came out in a rush, his accent temporarily thickening with panic.  That tended to happen.  Better for him to lose control of his accent than his power.

          “Holy fuck, Charles.”  A pause.  “A mutant?” Raven sounded as disgusted as he felt.

          “Yes.  A handsome male mutant, according to Uncle Francis, hopefully enticing enough to draw me out of the closet.  What am I supposed to do?  I don’t want a slave, Raven.  It makes me sick to even think of.” He collapsed into one of the plush armchairs in the study, worrying one of the familiar chess pieces between his fingers.

          “It’s fucking sick but it’s not like you asked for a slave, Charles.  You didn’t cause any of this so stop with your martyr bullshit.” Raven paused to take a deep breath.  “But, I mean, if you took him in, you could help him, right?  I mean living with you would be boring, but probably better than whatever else would happen to him.  And maybe you could help free him?  Even if you can’t legally, you can basically.  You could give him control of his life again.”  At least Raven was thinking clearly.  Charles’ mind was in turmoil.

          “But I don’t want to own someone, Raven.  I’d hate myself.  Particularly owning a fellow mutant.  That could be either of us in his place.” Charles swallowed thickly.  It was at times like these he lost sight of his faith in the world. 

          “If it was me, Charles, wouldn’t you want someone like you to take me in and keep me safe?  Would you want someone to turn me away and send me back into danger?” Raven’s voice was soft and persuasive.  What she said was very true, however.  Charles would want someone to keep her safe.

          “I sincerely wish our world was one in which I would not have to make this choice.” Charles set the chess piece back down and curled his legs up into his chest.  He felt very much alone in that moment.  What brave new world he lived in, when people could treat their fellows like animals and brand numbers on their skin.

          “So do I.” Raven was quietly introspective for a moment, and Charles would have given a good deal to know what she was thinking.  But he had promised and he would not break his word. “I’ll come home tomorrow, okay?  I was planning to anyway, so it’s no problem.  I’ll help you set up a room for him and whatnot.” It went unspoken that she would be the emotional support Charles needed, as she had frequently been when he was younger and lacked the control he now had of his power.

          “Thank you, Raven.  I’ll be here when you arrive.” He paused, hating the loneliness that felt at home in his bones.  “I love you a good deal, you know, and I’m very, very appreciative of your rationality when I’ve misplaced mine.”

          “Love you too, Charles.  And I could say the same to you.  See you tomorrow, big brother.” The line clicked dead.

          Charles sighed and wrapped his arms tightly around his legs.  He couldn’t help the little bit of hope that this newcomer would bring an end to his loneliness.  And then he felt even worse, like the slave owner he would soon be, and quashed that hope firmly.  He slept fitfully that night.

          Raven arrived the next day.  They spent what little time they had attempting to prepare for the human property that would be arriving.  There was no real way to prepare for something so wrong.  Charles had no idea what to expect, how to help the man that would undoubtedly be nearly broken.

          The tension they both felt was nearly palpable.  Raven assisted Charles in baking for their guest, mostly tasting the batter when he wasn’t looking, and Charles helped Raven decorate a room in a way that was hopefully both tasteful and reassuring.

          Eventually, the day dawned and Charles put on his most comfortable blue sweater, seeking reassurance from the warm fabric.  He found Raven dressed beautifully as always, in her blonde form that she always used for guests.  The form that was registered as a free human, rather than her blue mutant form that legally would be recognized as a slave.

          They put on the kettle for tea, Charles intending to offer some to his new guest.  If anything was a universal comfort, it was a nice hot cup of earl grey.  Charles was sure of that.

          He searched for the minds he knew would be coming, likely his new guest and a handler.  He had taken to calling him a guest in his mind, finding it more palatable than slave.  But that’s what Charles wanted him to feel he was: a guest, free to move and act as he pleased.

          He felt two minds coming from town as the tea kettle began to whistle.  They set the tea to brew, and he and Raven sat to wait in the kitchen.  He felt out the minds of the newcomers, the handler coming easily.  He was a bit of a simpleton, familiar hatred dominating his thoughts as he drove along the deserted country roads.  His guest, however, was a different story.  He had rather strong shields in place, undoubtedly helped along by another telepath.  Just the idea of another person like him fascinated Charles and he wanted to beg his new guest to tell him all about the other telepath.  He filed that idea away for a later date when he felt the palpable fear and anxiety and anger breaking through the carefully erected shields of his guest.  He felt sick to his stomach with it and very much desired to help his guest to find his inner balance, but his unsolicited help tended to make people more afraid, not less.  So he waited, attempting to ease his own thoughts.

          The familiar sound of gravel crunching in the drive brought  him to his feet, and both he and Raven hurried to open the door.

          Nothing prepared Charles for the sight of the handler, a nasty horrid man, Charles was forced to conclude, pulling another person out of the back of his car by a collar.  The handler held a remote in his other hand and pressed something, causing his guest to fall to his knees. 

          “No, please!  None of that is necessary; I’ll take him from here.” Charles couldn’t help himself; he had to act to stop that awful man from hurting his guest any further.  He couldn’t stand by and watch another being suffer.  It was too much.

          The handler stopped, looking up at him with raised eyebrows.  His guest remained on his knees with his eyes lowered.  He was dressed in a gray jumpsuit and looked horribly underfed, his wrists shackled together and looking much too thin for their cuffs.  Charles felt an unexpected surge of hatred, hatred for his government and for the people that allowed this kind of behavior to go on.

          The handler pulled some papers out of his jacket pocket.

          “Are you Charles Xavier?” He asked finally, reading the name off the documents.  Charles nodded mutely.  He normally wouldn’t have hurried things along, feeling it to be a violation of the sovereignty of another’s body, but it was hard for him to feel bad for this handler.  He invaded his mind, sending him off in a matter of seconds, papers dropped at his feet beside that horrible remote.  The car was long gone before anyone spoke again.

          “That doesn’t look very comfortable.  Would you like to come inside?” Raven finally breached the silence, her voice marginally shaky at first.  The guest stood slowly, not meeting anyone’s eyes and just stood there.  Charles looked confusedly to Raven, and then bent to pick up the papers and the god-awful remote.  That he held pinched between two fingers in distaste, intending to put it far, far away at the first chance he got.  He suspected it was tied into the collar his new guest wore, likely similar to a cattle prod, but had no desire to study the system.  He just wanted to get it off of his guest.

          He turned and began to walk inside and only then did his guest follow.  Charles stopped and he stopped as well.

          “Um, it’s quite unnecessary for you to- to trail me like that.  You should feel at home here, my friend.” Charles attempted to sound warm.  His guest’s eyes remained averted, his posture rigid.  “Would you like some tea, perhaps?  I always find a nice cup of earl grey soothes the mind in a pinch.”

          At this, his guest’s eyes raised to his.  Charles was startled to find them an entrancingly vivid green.

          “Yes, sir, thank you.” His voice was beautiful, Charles had to admit.  He’d always enjoyed voices.  But his words made Charles uncomfortable.

          “There’s no need to call me sir.  I’m  Charles and that is my sister Raven.” Here, Charles attempted a smile.  His guest looked vaguely questioning at that. “What may I call you?”

          His guest raised an eyebrow, looking almost derisive. It occurred to Charles that he was likely rarely asked about his desires.

          “Erik.” His guest looked down again.

          “Right.  Well, Erik, the kitchen is right this way.” Charles exchanged a significant look with Raven and followed her into the house.  Erik followed docilely behind them, still restrained at the wrists.  Charles had no idea what to do with those.  Likely the handler would have explained something or other to him about that, but Charles couldn’t bring himself to regret sending him off as quickly as he did.  His mind still felt unpleasantly sticky after brushing against the nastiness of the handler’s.

          When they got to the kitchen, Raven took her usual seat at the table as Charles went to pour the tea.  Erik dropped to his knees at their feet.

          “There’s no need for that.  Why don’t you sit up here, where it’s comfortable?” Raven’s voice was calm and collected and if Charles hadn’t known her as well as he did, he would believe that she felt at ease.  As it was, he could see the tension around her mouth and shoulders.

          Erik stood slowly, looking suspiciously at both of them before taking his seat.  Charles passed him a cup of tea, his eyes landing on the bonds on his wrists.  At least his hands were shackled in front of him and not behind him.  That would have been a horrible car ride.

          “Oh, dear.  We’ll have to get those off somehow.” He thought for a moment.  Perhaps bolt cutters would take them off.  He doubted they had bolt cutters anywhere.  “Um, Erik, do you perhaps know how those might be removed?” Charles indicated the restraints on his wrist and the collar at his neck.  Erik stared at him for a moment, evaluating, before he spoke.

          “I can take them off myself, if you’d like.” He admitted.  Charles looked surprised.  How Erik would manage that, he had no idea, but that would certainly be useful.

          “By all means, go right ahead.” Raven responded, smiling encouragingly.  Erik shrugged and the bonds melted off of him, ending up in a heap of mangled metal on the table.  Charles gasped audibly.

          “That’s magnificent, Erik.  You control metal?” He asked, fascinated.  Erik, shrugged again, deprecatingly. 

          “Yes.  And magnetic fields.” He looked rebellious for a moment before his blank mask returned. “I won’t use my power without permission, I swear.” His words were forced, as if it pained him to say them.  Charles wanted to tell him that wasn’t necessary, that powers were welcome in his new home, that he of all people would understand, but he had no idea how to voice that.  Raven saved him the trouble.  She shifted to her natural blue form as if it were the most natural thing in the world (which, for her, it was) and continued to primly sip at her tea.

          “You can use your powers whenever you’d like here, Erik.  We’ll certainly understand.” She told him with a tentative smile. 

 _You never need to ask for permission about that, Erik.  Nor about anything else.  You are a guest here, and you are free to do as you choose._ Charles watched as recognition flitted across Erik’s features, as he realized he was in the presence of another telepath.  Charles broadcasted some of the goodwill he felt towards Erik. _This is your home for as long as you’d like for it to be, truly.  I’d like for you to feel at home here with us._ Charles was surprised that his shields had dropped enough for him to do this, but it was likely the stress of the situation.  Most people didn’t have to keep mental shields up at every second of every day and dropped them whenever they didn’t feel they absolutely needed them.  Charles didn’t have that privilege.

          After Charles’ mental invason, Erik gave his first smile.  It was more of the thought of a smile, just a minute curvature of the lips, but Charles recognized it for the success it was, letting them lapse into silence as they drank. 

          It took only a few seconds for Erik to break the silence.  Being in servitude had not come naturally to him, and the sincerity of Charles goodwill had hopefully made him a bit more comfortable.

          “Is there any food?” He asked.  Charles smiled at his comfort in their household already.

          “Raven and I baked scones yesterday.  We weren’t sure about any allergies, so we made chai with rice flour, and maple pecan with wheat flour and blueberry with no dairy just to be sure.  Do you have any food allergies?” Charles brought the baskets he and Raven had placed the scones in out to the table along with pots of lemon curd, jam and Devonshire cream, which was his personal favorite.  Raven brought silverware and plates.  It was an oddly domestic scene for their circumstances.

          “No, none that I’m aware of.” Erik was rather blasé in his response, as if every day he was asked about his allergies by his reluctant owners.  Perhaps he was.  Charles really had no idea.

           Raven set his plate down in front of him with silverware, which Erik entirely disregarded, opting to tear into a scone with his hands.  He was obviously quite hungry, which only strengthened Charles’ resolve to hire a proper cook to keep their new guest fed, because he was in the habit of living off of microwave meals which wouldn’t do.  He couldn’t cook anything, really.  He was only good at baking.  And Raven had forbidden him to live off of sweets entirely, citing his family’s history of diabetes and high cholesterol.  He thought that was rather unfair, albeit true, and had attempted a brief health phase, which had morphed into his current eating plan: he just had to eat at least one fruit a day and vegetables at lunch and dinner, and then supplement with sweets as necessary.  When Raven was home, he attempted to eat in a slightly more reasonable way.  He routinely thanked the powers to be that she rarely stayed for long enough to notice his horrific eating habits.

          He spread a bit (alright, perhaps a dollop, it was an extreme sort of day) of cream on his scone and took a bite, savoring the chai flavor he had so carefully measured out to be just under overwhelming.  It had taken him years to perfect his scone recipe.

          Raven watched them both with a smile, eating her scone a bit more daintily as was her habit.  Erik had downed three by the time Charles finished his first.  No one had anything to say and the silence began to stretch on.

          “So you don’t seem like the type to own a sex slave.” Erik broke the silence, fixing Charles with a rather intense stare, as if he was searching his very depths.  Charles usually found himself doing the depths searching and found himself quite uncomfortable to have the tables turned.  He swallowed the bite he’d just taken noisily and nearly choked.

          “Umm, yes, well I rather think I’m not.  You were a, um, gift.  From my uncle.  He’s mostly senile.”  Charles paused for breath.  He was rambling awkwardly and he needed to stop.  That was not the Charles Xavier that had entertained everyone from the Duchess of Cambridge to Stephen Hawking.  He cleared his throat.  “You are, however, welcome here for as long as you’d like, my friend, I do want to be clear on that.  You are our honored guest for however long you choose to stay.” Charles put on his best welcoming smile.  He couldn’t tell what Erik was trying to figure out.  Did he think he would be resented?

          “Thanks.  What was I a gift for?  And why did someone buy you a male sex slave?” Erik spoke bluntly, ignoring Charles’ furious red blush in favor of staring him down, as if he could terrify Charles into giving him answers.  He entirely could.

          “That is none of your business unless Charles decides it is your business and either way not suitable discussion over breakfast.” Raven jumped in, fixing Erik with a disapproving glance.  In theory, Charles was supposed to be the one doing the protecting, but in that moment he was awfully glad for his overprotective younger sister.

          “My apologies.” Erik sounded entirely unapologetic, actually, but Charles let it slide. “I was just curious as to my arrival here.  In my experience, people buy sex slaves for sex, not to feed them scones.”  Erik was entirely unashamed of his status as sex slave and said it almost proudly as if he were trying to provoke a reaction in them.  Charles pushed his plate away, suddenly not hungry.  He hated his Uncle Francis vehemently for putting him through this.

          “My deranged uncle thought it would be a good idea to purchase you for me.  Neither Raven nor I believe in slavery of any kind, much less slavery of mutants.” _For obvious reasons_ , Charles added in their heads. “I apologize if we seem unwelcoming or different or not what you expected, but I’m going to have to blame my uncle’s senility for those circumstances.  Believe me, my friend, I did not wish for a slave.”

          “So you don’t want me here?  Or you didn’t want the guilt of buying a slave?” Erik seemed determined to make Charles uncomfortable.  Why couldn’t he have been meek or, even better, mute?  Why did Charles have to get someone so harsh and mean to him?

          “We are delighted to have the company, aren’t we, Raven?  We just wish it wasn’t on the terms it was.  I had no interest in buying a slave period, because I don’t believe in slavery.  I would love it if we could all be friends, however.  That would be… good.  Very good.” Charles turned his pleading eyes on his sister.  He was making a fool of himself.  He didn’t even make sense any more.

          “We’re always delighted to have _polite_ company,” Raven responded, her emphasis on polite suggesting the current company might be withstanding.  Erik snorted.

          “Pardon if my manners are not up to your standard.  I’m a bit out of practice with the whole polite conversation bit. It hasn’t really been part of my job for a long time.” Erik told her.  Charles looked on as Raven and Erik attempted to stare each other down.  They kept at it for an uncomfortable amount of time and Charles was forced to clear his throat to distract them.

          “I thought, if you’d like, Erik, I might give you a tour?  I can show you to your room, of course, but I thought you might be interested in the rest of the grounds and rooms as well?  If you’re not, that’s no problem, it’s purely at your discretion.” He was rambling.  He knew he was rambling but he couldn’t help it.

          Erik gave him a look that uncomfortably resembled a predator sizing up his prey.  His resultant smile was distinctly sharkish, which only added to the image.

          “That would be grand,” he replied, only partially sarcastically.  Charles smiled welcomingly at him and Raven snorted, collecting the dirty plates and shoving the basket of scones at Charles to put them away.  He could feel her exasperation coming off of her in waves.

          She was thinking rather loudly about how Charles was supposed to inherently have power in this interaction and how he was already being taken advantage of by Erik and god damn him not understanding how he looked and consequently what people wanted of him, damn his naiveté, if she had to protect him from some lecherous miscreant he was so going to owe her.  Charles barely kept from dropping the basket of scones.

          She thought Erik liked him.  Was attracted to him.  Wanted to do sexual things with him.  He stole a glance at Erik who had graciously taken to leaning on his forearms on the table, all the better to highlight his physique.  Charles’ gaze hovered on the prominent muscles of his back and arms, on the nicely tapered waist, on the undoubtedly perfect ass currently covered by fabric.  He had to suppress a shiver.

          There was no way Raven was right.  Someone like Erik was not attracted to nerdy, socially inept telepaths.  And none of this mattered anyway because Charles wasn’t even sure he was attracted to men.  In fact, he likely wasn’t, so it didn’t matter, not in the slightest.  He didn’t question that too hard, just shoved all thoughts of attraction into a compartment in the back of his mind, locking it up tight and throwing out the key.  Things were complicated enough without him getting starry eyed over his guest for no reason.

          And even if he were attracted to men, he wasn’t interested in a purely sexual relationship.  He wanted the whole shebang, with cuddles and sleeping next to each other and fights and make ups and morning breath.  He wanted someone to love him, not just appreciate his body.  And Erik wasn’t going to love him.  His own mother hadn’t even.

          He dumped the scones in a bag and shoved them in the refrigerator, squeezing past Raven.  She was still exasperated with him.  He’d have to come apologize later, for what he had no clue, but hopefully she’d appreciate the idea behind it.

          “Erik, I can show you up now, if you’d like?” He smiled at the man, not entirely understanding the wariness in his guest’s eyes.  Why did Erik look like Charles was going to attack him?  Charles was the least threatening person he knew, physically.  Erik was probably uncomfortable with his telepathy, it wasn’t uncommon.  Charles made a mental note not to project to him again.

          Erik stood and wordlessly followed him out.  He could feel Raven’s eyes on their backs, and Erik’s eyes on his own.  He resolved not to peek at Erik’s thoughts, no matter how much he wanted.  He wouldn’t take that from him, ever, without his permission.  Particularly not when Erik was already in a position where he likely felt threatened.

          Charles took him on the grand tour, showing him all the rooms and giving his usual speeches about construction dates and unique craftsmanship and crystal chandeliers.  Erik was silent, nodding when Charles seemed to expect it and following docilely behind him.  By the time they made it to Erik’s room, Charles was at his wit’s end with the man.  What did he have to do to make Erik feel comfortable?  He wanted him to feel safe there, he truly did.  He was safe, for God’s sake.  Charles certainly wasn’t going to hurt him, and he doubted the gardener had any intentions either.  He didn’t understand what Erik was afraid of.  Of course, he was likely traumatized and Rome wasn’t built in a day, so Erik’s confidence and ease likely wouldn’t be either.  But he seemed as though he was waiting for Charles to attack him.  The thought, under any other circumstance, would be laughable: the chances of Charles, a soft bellied scholar, having any sort of success in a physical altercation against Erik who was over six feet of lean muscles were too ridiculous to ponder.

          “Here’s your room, it locks from the inside.” Maybe that would make him feel more comfortable.  Charles doubted it; for a metallokinetic, all doorknobs locked from whatever side they chose. “And through here is the restroom.  There are towels on the shelf and a whole array of toiletries in the cabinet and under the sink; if we overlooked anything we can send out for it, or if you have any preferences for anything.  Raven and I try to buy fair trade, organic products but if you don’t like anything don’t hesitate to mention it; we can make a trip into town and pick up whatever works for you.” Charles glanced around the bathroom that he had meticulously put together himself.  It looked up to snuff.  He hoped Erik felt at least somewhat comfortable. 

          He turned around, intending to excuse himself to let Erik settle in, and yelped in surprise.  Erik had shut the door and had already made quick work of the buttons on the upper half of his jump suit.  His fingers were on the zipper over his crotch, as if this was his everyday routine.  Charles slapped his hand over his eyes not wanting to see any more.  He already wished he didn’t have the image of an impeccably muscular chest and arms burned onto his retinas, likely permanently.

          “What on earth are you doing?” His voice was more high pitched than he wanted to admit.  He felt at once better and worse with his sight blocked; for one, he wasn’t risking seeing anything else, but he was also unpleasantly blind.

          “What I assumed you wanted.  I’ve been with men like you before.  I understand how it works.” Charles didn’t hear any rustling of fabric and hoped that Erik had stopped undressing.  He didn’t dare uncover his eyes.

          “I’m sorry, my friend, but what exactly do you mean?  I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Charles could feel himself blushing.  He was uncomfortably hot in his cardigan.

          “I understand that you want your sister to think that you’re above all this, that you would never have a sex slave, that it was a mistake in my being sent here.  So you’ll set me up with a nice, private room that locks from the inside, and then make up excuses to come see me here, like you’re showing me around, so you can get what you paid for.  I won’t tell her about you.” Erik sounded entirely nonplussed.  Charles wanted to cry.

          “I really don’t want that, Erik.  I-I really want you to be comfortable here, and I have no designs on taking anything from you that you do not wish to offer.  I’m not looking for that, really.” What he said was true.  Charles didn’t want sex.  He wanted to be touched like someone loved him.  His parents had never given him any affection, and by the time he met Raven he had self-imposed restraints on casual affection.  He instinctively shied away from touching and hugging and whatnot.  He didn’t want a casual fuck.  He wanted someone who would make him feel less alone, who would ease the constant ache of being unloved.

          “I’m offering, Charles.  I don’t mind.  I won’t object to you fucking me.” Charles could feel the truth of Erik’s words emanating from him.  Erik was rather forcefully fantasizing: Charles fucking him hard from behind, sucking Charles off, letting Charles fuck his mouth, Charles’ lips around his length, Charles coming on his face.  The images kept coming, made all the worse by the sensations that accompanied them.  Erik had a very vivid imagination.  Charles inhaled sharply.  He wanted to flee, wanted to run and keep running until he could no longer feel the embarrassment of this whole situation.

          “I mind very much, Erik.  Thank you for the offer, but I must be going.  If you’ll excuse me.” Charles didn’t remove his hand from his eyes, feeling his way towards the door.  He could feel humor radiating off of Erik at the sight of him, adding to the heap of embarrassment he felt.  He hated his uncle.  Hated him.

          He smacked into the door rather painfully, located the knob, and was out in the hall in seconds, shutting the door firmly behind him and walking briskly towards his own room.  He was more flustered than he’d been in years, Erik’s fantasies reverberating through his skull, making him uncomfortably hard.  He hated himself for that.  He couldn’t do this, he knew better.  There was a reason he lived by himself away from everyone else.  It was all well and good to feel excited and ecstatic around Erik now, to pretend that someone loved him and would always love him.  But a month down the line, or maybe two or three if he was lucky, he’d start to hear the bitterness in their thoughts as they realized they weren’t so keen on him, didn’t like his telepathy or his work habits or his weaknesses.  He’d feel their doubt as they said they loved him, feel the fakeness of their caresses, and he’d hate himself for it, hate them for it.  He didn’t want that to happen with Erik.

          He knew he should probably go speak to Raven, tell her Erik was settled in alright, but he very much wanted to be alone for a few minutes.  He made it to his room, locking the door behind him, and sank to the floor.  Charles liked having his back to the wall in a dark room.  It was oddly comforting, akin to a surrogate hug.  It was what he did when he felt not good, like it was all too much and he hurt, just a dull ache of hopelessness, and he didn’t know what else to do.  Sometimes he slept as well, but ever since Raven had read that excessive sleep was a symptom of depression he had tried to limit his sleeping habits in the daytime. 

          His breaths were slightly ragged and he felt his nails dig into the soft flesh on the inside of his wrists.  The pain grounded him.  He still felt off, sort of hopeless and unhappy, like something was fundamentally wrong and wouldn’t ever be right and it was exhausting him.  That was one of the many reasons everyone he had ever dated had become tired of him.  He could be very “pessimistic” or “a downer” or “fucking depressing” depending on which of his exes was asked.  It was better for him to be alone, really.  Even though the thought of being perpetually alone made him feel even more hopeless.

          He squeezed, feeling his skin imprint with ten crescents from his fingernails, thankful the sleeves of his cardigan were long enough to hide the marks from Raven when he got the strength to go downstairs.  He reacted differently than other people to social situations, he thought.  A very attractive man had just hit on him and he was imploding.  Most people would be overjoyed.  Charles thought it was because he had more knowledge of the true emotions of such exchanges, of the fundamental differences between himself and all of his onetime friends, peers, or lovers.  He knew relationships were transient for him, impermanent.  He could very accurately predict how long his friendships would last the second he met someone.

          He didn’t want to look for that answer in Erik.  He was afraid it would crush him.

          Raven’s worry broke through his thoughts and he forced himself to gather his emotions, put on a nice smile for her and tug his sleeves down, slipping out of his bedroom and down the stairs.  He had to act normally for Raven.  He didn’t want to hear her thoughts about him if she knew how he really felt sometimes.  That would kill him inside.

          “I showed Erik to his room.” Charles found Raven sitting in the window seat in the kitchen, idly sipping a mug of coffee.  He pulled his box of treats from the pantry and removed a chocolate biscuit to munch on.  The sweetness made him feel slightly better.  He’d learned to try and ground himself when he was in moods like this, to find solace in taste and smell and sound and touch, even if that meant pain.  “He may have come on to me, somewhat.” He was matter of fact in his delivery.  Raven grinned at him.

          “I knew it.  He likes you, Charles.  It was obvious from the moment he walked in.” Raven was still smiling at him.  Charles felt the weight of her expectations settle on him and he shrugged apathetically.

          “Nothing will come of it.” He took out another biscuit. “I’m not interested in dating right now.”  He brought his shields up fully, not wanting to hear Raven’s pity or concern for him.  He’d heard enough already to last him a lifetime.  “I’m thinking of hiring a proper cook.  Would you mind helping me search for one?” He changed the subject, rather transparently, but Raven went along with it without a fuss.  She was no stranger to his moods.

          “Of course.  I wouldn’t trust you to vet a cook properly, Charles.  You’d choose anyone who made decent sweets, their actual cooking skills be damned.” Her smile was truly warm, and she bumped his arm gently.  He craved the contact, wanted to reach out and hold onto her, never let go, but at the same time it felt wrong, made his skin feel unpleasantly tingly.  He settled for a smile in her direction.

          “Do you think we made the right decision, Raven?  About letting Erik come here.” He pitched his voice lower.  He could feel that Erik had gone outside, was moving away from the mansion, but one could never be too cautious.

          “Right now? Yeah, I do think we made the right decision.  But time will tell, Charles.” Raven finished off her coffee. “Now, how about a walk while there’s still daylight?  The grounds are beautiful at this time of year, which you might know if you ever went outside.” She plopped her cup in the sink and stole Charles’ box of sweets.  He let her.

          “I go outside every day, Raven.  I go for a run in the morning.” He informed her, standing up to follow her.  A walk did sound nice.  It sounded like the perfect thing to pull him out of his funk.

          “Charles, you run when the sun isn’t out.  That barely counts.”  They made their way out the front door and onto the lawn.  The sun had dried the dew, saving Charles’ leather shoes from a mess.  Raven slipped her shoes off to walk barefoot.

          He wanted these moments to last forever.  Being with Raven made him feel whole again.  Raven was the one person who he felt loved him truly.  Most of the time, when he encountered love, he could tell it was temporary.  He’d read couples that secretly disliked the other’s habits or existence.  He’d heard people think nasty thoughts about him, of course.  That was part of the reason he didn’t do relationships.  Charles had learned to accept that everyone thinks bad things about others on occasion; it was part of being human.  But it was very hard for him to try to believe someone loved him if they secretly hated his optimism or the way he talked or his nerdiness.  He’d been through that in the few serious relationships he’d attempted, and it had hurt a lot more than he’d anticipated.  It just wasn’t worth it.

          But with Raven, he blocked her out.  Even if she had those thoughts, he didn’t hear them.  And she acted like she loved him, which he didn’t doubt, and was a genuinely fun person to be around.  He tried to be the same for her, a rock she could rely on.  That was what older brothers were for.

          He wanted to walk in the grass with her for the rest of his life.  Their walk was beautiful and grounded him well, brought back his optimism and his faith in the world.  He vowed to be a better host to Erik and to apologize to him for whatever happened, even if it wasn’t his fault.

          He wanted the man to be comfortable with them.  He couldn’t truly leave, so at the least Charles could make it easy for him to stay. 

          And he was rather nice to look at (not that Charles would ever, ever say that out loud or really admit it to himself).  If Erik stayed, Charles vowed to make a better attempt at befriending him.  Just because he’d had some bad relationships didn’t mean he couldn’t be friends with Erik.  And, alright, ogle him occasionally, if he was being truthful.  He thanked his lucky stars that he was the telepath, not Erik, so he could appreciate the other man without danger of being found out.

          It took a good deal of restraint for Charles to not succumb to curiosity and just read through Erik’s thoughts.  But some things were better not being known, he knew very well.  So he contented himself to a conversation with his new housemate to make sure that all was still well between them.  He’d have to get used to conversation with him eventually.  Erik was going to be a fixture in his house, now.  It was a good thing Charles had always been good at sharing.

          He stayed on the front step when Raven went inside so he could catch Erik on his way in and because it was a beautiful day and it truly felt nice to be in the sun.  Sometimes the mansion could be horribly oppressive, and the fresh air was a welcome change.


	2. Erik

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik's take of the events. I swear most chapters won't be a retelling of previous action, but this time this is the events of the last chapter in Erik's POV because I thought it was necessary/ interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for discussion of sexual assault. I think that's implied in the sexual slavery but if you get triggered by anything to do with that you probably shouldn't read any part of this work.

Being sold was absolutely the worst part of being a sex slave.  Erik hated it: the uncertainty, the horribly scratchy jumpsuits, the reversion to being just another number, the treatment unfit for any sentient creature, the disgustingly impersonal evaluations of his capabilities.  Unfortunately, being sold was a very frequent part of being a sex slave.  People’s tastes changed and they sold you.  People got married and they sold you.  People just wanted a “change of pace” and they sold you.  Erik was getting used to it.

It wasn’t so bad anymore.  He’d lost his modesty long ago, and now he looked forward to the change.  Or, more accurately, he got sick of his owners more and more quickly and looked forward to leaving.  One could only suffer through so many unattractive older men before they got sick of it all.

The one thing he was proud of was his pricing.  He was expensive, much more so than all of his acquaintances (it didn’t suit to have friends in his position; too much collateral damage).  The day he’d outpaced Emma in pricing had been a great one.  Of course, costing a small fortune had its downsides.  Only obscenely rich people could buy him, and obscenely rich people tended to be older, spoiled beyond belief, or both. 

When he got the news that he’d been bought again and he was being taken to New York, he’d resigned himself to another nasty old man.  When he stepped out of the car, he was favorably impressed.  Nice house, nice area, nice looking younger man.  Very nice looking younger man.

He observed his new owner in as subtle a manner as he was capable.  He looked harmless, really.  Not at all the type to be buying a sex slave by appearance, but then again, one never could tell these things by appearance. 

He was barely out of the car before the sadistic fuck that was in charge of transporting him activated his shock collar.  He went to his knees, unable to do anything to resist.  The collar blocked his power as well as physically shocking him.  He seized and gasped in the hold of the electric current, willing his heart not to stop.

“No, stop!  Please!” A cultured, male English voice cried out.  That would be his new owner.  Likely didn’t want his property damaged.  He probably thought the shock would be bad for Erik’s libido (he was right in that) and wanted to test out his new property as soon as he had the chance.  That’s what most of them wanted. 

With this man, Erik didn’t think it would be too much trouble to be tried out.  He wouldn’t mind seeing a bit more of that pale skin laid bare above him.

Erik didn’t dare raise his eyes.  That had been plenty for him for the day, perhaps the week.  He didn’t have a mind to get shocked again for insouciance from his new owner.

The handler asked if he was in fact Charles Xavier, though there was little doubt in Erik’s mind.  Who else would he be?  And then things went along remarkably quickly; the handler quite literally dropped the papers and left.  How odd.  Erik was glad of it, though; he had no desire to have another handler go through all the functions of a shock collar on him just then.  He could explain them later if necessary.

He remained on his knees in the gravel, noting vaguely that the rocks were pressing sharply into the skin of his knees through the scratchy fabric of his jumpsuit.  He could sit in silence for as long as was necessary.  One didn’t spend as much time as a slave as he had and not learn to be silent. 

The girl broke the silence first.  Brave one.  Her voice bore a slight tremor for the first few words and then steadied as if by force of will.  She seemed nice and welcoming, though she was not legally his owner and would not be the one to punish him for disobedience, likely.  He stayed kneeling, eyes down.

Everything was still for several long seconds more.  He could hear birds singing somewhere, and perhaps the sound of a fountain.  Definitely water burbling.

Xavier finally began to move.  Erik stood to follow him as was customary, and Xavier froze, looking even more pale than before.

“Um, it’s quite unnecessary for you to- to trail me like that.  You should feel at home here, my friend.” Xavier sounded distinctly pained.  Likely wasn’t used to owning slaves.  Erik was definitely his first.    “Would you like some tea, perhaps?  I always find a nice cup of earl grey soothes the mind in a pinch.”

Erik was shocked at this.  Most owners, however new, didn’t offer earl grey first off.  Typically, that kind of behavior was spurred on by guilt after they’d fucked you raw the first time or ten.  He met his owner’s eyes, unable to resist, and found himself trapped.  He was beautiful, as far as captors went.  Erik had the absurd urge to run his fingers through the thick mane of chestnut hair Xavier possessed.  It was only the familiar weight of his manacles that kept him from moving.  He didn’t enjoy the embarrassment of being unable to do something due to his bounds.

“Yes, sir, thank you.” He tried to sound deferential and as though he weren’t imagining being fucked in the kitchen by his new owner.  Xavier looked uncomfortable.  He likely hadn’t done a good job of hiding his thoughts, then.

“There’s no need to call me sir.  I’m  Charles and that is my sister Raven.” Xavier attempted what looked almost like a smile.  Erik was curious.  Xavier acted as though he was being tortured.  Most people were a good deal more excited at Erik’s arrival. “What may I call you?”

Erik couldn’t help the derision that was plain on his features.  He hadn’t been asked for a name in years.  Most either had one they liked, used terms like “boy” or “slave” or referred to him by the number tattooed on his forearm.  He wasn’t sure he wanted to give Xavier his true name.

Well, Xavier had given him his.  The least he could do was return the favor. 

“Erik.” He looked away again.  Charles was much too appealing.  It was a sin to look like him, both in physical appearance and in the compassion so evident in his eyes.

 “Right.  Well, Erik, the kitchen is right this way.” Charles followed his sister into the house, and Erik followed him.  It was a big house, certainly.  In fact, house was quite an understatement.  It was more like a castle.  It would be comfortable living there, at the very least.  Even if he had to sleep on the floor, he’d bet that all of them had nice plush rugs that were worth more than he was. 

He wasn’t getting the feeling that they’d have him sleep on the floor, though.  They seemed unorthodox, at the least.  Charles was certainly trying very hard.  Why, Erik had no idea.  Probably because his sister was there.  A lot of his owners had been like that: polite and cultured in front of their friends and family, and then awful in private.  Oh, well.  At least Charles was nice to look at.  It wasn’t so bad, really; if Raven stayed around, he could always be guaranteed about 12 hours of rest a day and good meals.  That was worth a lot to him.

It appeared that he had guessed right when he dropped to his knees, as was customary for someone of his position.  Raven looked horrified.  Definitely had strong morals, then.

“There’s no need for that.  Why don’t you sit up here, where it’s comfortable?” She spoke gently to him, as if he were an injured bird or a horse she was afraid to spook.  At least someone would be nice to him here.

He stood and took the proferred chair, arms hanging awkwardly heavily in their restraints.  Damn those.  He didn’t like the metal they were composed of; it buzzed and itched, somehow, as if it were inherently wrong.

“Oh, dear.  We’ll have to get those off somehow.” Charles appeared to have divined his thoughts. “Um, Erik, do you perhaps know how those might be removed?” So he really was a novice.  Asking his slave for help was bordering on shameful, in most people’s eyes.  Erik studied him more thoroughly.  Out of all of his owners, Charles was a conundrum.  He seemed almost genuinely nice.  But he wasn’t stupid enough to be fooled that easily.  Many people could seem nice if they tried.  Behavior in public had no bearing on behavior in private.

“I can take them off myself, if you’d like.” He spoke calmly with no emotion in his voice.  He had to test their policy on his using his powers sooner or later and the metal was beginning to chafe.  That, and he had no idea how his new owner would get them off otherwise.  He didn’t seem the capable sort, and Erik was rather attached to his hands and didn’t want to lose them to some tragic saw accident.

When he’d been given the order to, he took them off.  Well, he melted them, but they entirely deserved it in his eyes.  His owner- no, _Charles_ , that was his name, was shocked.  Erik didn’t know why he should be.  Obviously he was a mutant.  Hence the slave status.

After the usual questions, he gave his usual responses.  Yes, he controlled metal, as well as magnetic fields.  Charles looked like a little boy on Christmas.  Maybe that was why he’d purchased Erik.  Had some sort of power kink.  Erik could work with that.

 “I won’t use my power without permission, I swear.” He forced the words out.  He had to say them, had seen the consequences when he didn’t say them and his owners blamed him for everything having to do with metal and made him swear anyway under coercion.  A few seconds went by after he spoke, and then Raven turned blue and scaly.  Erik suppressed a grin.  So that was part of this, undoubtedly.  Maybe Charles had some sort of kink fantasy about his mutant sister that he couldn’t fulfill because, _sister,_ so he’d purchased Erik

 “You can use your powers whenever you’d like here, Erik.  We’ll certainly understand.” Raven smiled at him.  She did seem genuinely nice as well.  He could understand how Charles would be in love with her.

_You never need to ask for permission about that, Erik.  Nor about anything else.  You are a guest here, and you are free to do as you choose._ Erik froze.  That was Charles’ voice in his head.  Damn it.  He hadn’t thought he’d needed to have his shields up, the ones that Emma had painstakingly helped him to create.  They were necessary in marketplaces where the chances of encountering a telepath for sale were high, but it had never occurred to him that Charles would be a telepath.  It was too late for that, though; it would be rude to put them up after he knew about Charles.

He felt a rush of warmth from the telepath. _This is your home for as long as you’d like for it to be, truly.  I’d like for you to feel at home here with us._

It felt genuine, but he knew how easy it was for telepaths to fool people.  Emma did it all the time.  He smiled at Charles, obviously what he was expecting and desiring.  Best to get off on a good foot with him.

He sat for what seemed like forever, in silence with the other two.  He was quite hungry, not having eaten for a couple of days, and if they said he should feel at home… time to test his boundaries.

 “Is there any food?” He asked.  Charles smiled at him as if he were a particularly good dog that had just learned a new trick.  Now he would get his treat, he supposed.

“Raven and I baked scones yesterday.  We weren’t sure about any allergies, so we made chai with rice flour, and maple pecan with wheat flour and blueberry with no dairy just to be sure.  Do you have any food allergies?” Food allergies?  Who fucking knew?  It wasn’t like anyone had ever cared to ask before, and Erik’s diet was out of his control.  He had no idea what he was eating most of the time.  What a privileged question.  Of course Charles probably knew all of his food allergies and had the staff work around them.

“No, none that I’m aware of.”  He tried to keep the ice out of his voice, acting as if it were just another in the stream of questions he usually got. Those usually tended more towards “can you deep throat?” or “how fast can you get me off?” or “how many men have fucked you?”

A plate with scones was set in front of him and he couldn’t help himself, tearing into one with his fingers.  They were delicious, though that likely had something to do with the fact that he hadn’t eaten in two days, and they filled the painful hole in his stomach.

Erik had another, and then another, disregarding the condiments the other two were using.  He’d found it was best to stay away from foods where you didn’t know the etiquette that went along with them.

After he’d finished gulping down his third one, he watched the other two.  He couldn’t puzzle it out.  They seemed so nice, like the façade of a perfect pair of siblings.  Of course Erik’s presence ruined that notion.  He just wanted to break through it, take whatever punishment that got him, and get on with it.  He liked to know what he was up against in all situations, and he was going to be punished sooner or later anyway (he always was) so it might as well be now.

 “So you don’t seem like the type to own a sex slave.” He stared intently at Charles, enjoying the deer in the headlights look the man took on.  He did have pretty eyes that Erik assuredly did not notice.  He also didn’t notice Charles’ throat muscles work as he swallowed.

 “Umm, yes, well I rather think I’m not.  You were a, um, gift.  From my uncle.  He’s mostly senile.”  Charles tripped over his words.  It was rather adorable in Erik’s eyes.  The cynical part of him reminded him that adorable had no place in his descriptors for an owner.  He wouldn’t think Charles was adorable when he lay bleeding and broken after he broke some unspoken ridiculous rule and Charles had a bad day.  “You are, however, welcome here for as long as you’d like, my friend, I do want to be clear on that.  You are our honored guest for however long you choose to stay.” Here, Charles smiled genuinely.  Puzzling.  Erik had thought he would crack by now.  Most people had very, very little tolerance for slaves speaking out of turn.  He decided to stick to his blunt tack.  He wasn’t any good at being polite anyway.

“Thanks.  What was I a gift for?  And why did someone buy you a male sex slave?” He continued to watch Charles and was amused at the wave of red that washed out of the man’s collar.  Surprisingly, it was his sister that broke first.

“That is none of your business unless Charles decides it is your business and either way not suitable discussion over breakfast.” Erik found himself the subject of a very yellow glare.  He hadn’t gotten very far.  It still seemed likely to him that Charles was just playing his part in front of his sister.  When he got him alone, then Erik would see what he was like.  He was somewhat looking forward to it.  Charles would be a fun fuck at least.  He was beautiful at that, with red lips and big blue eyes and lush hair.  Erik wouldn’t mind being fucked by him.

“My apologies.” He tried to keep his thoughts from his voice. “I was just curious as to my arrival here.  In my experience, people buy sex slaves for sex, not to feed them scones.”  He couldn’t resist one last opportunity to get answers.

“My deranged uncle thought it would be a good idea to purchase you for me.  Neither Raven nor I believe in slavery of any kind, much less slavery of mutants.” _For obvious reasons_ , Charles added in his head. “I apologize if we seem unwelcoming or different or not what you expected, but I’m going to have to blame my uncle’s senility for those circumstances.  Believe me, my friend, I did not wish for a slave.”

“So you don’t want me here?  Or you didn’t want the guilt of buying a slave?” Erik pressed.  Something in him wanted to see Charles break.  He seemed too perfect.  No one was that nice. 

“We are delighted to have the company, aren’t we, Raven?  We just wish it wasn’t on the terms it was.  I had no interest in buying a slave period, because I don’t believe in slavery.  I would love it if we could all be friends, however.  That would be… good.  Very good.” Charles was starting to sound like the host of a children’s show.  He just wanted everyone to be _friends_ , like a good little boy.  Erik wanted to slap the naiveté off of his English countenance.  Not everyone could be friends.  The world was too shitty for that.

“We’re always delighted to have _polite_ company,” Raven put an emphasis on polite.  Erik snorted.  He actually quite liked her. 

“Pardon if my manners are not up to your standards.  I’m a bit out of practice with the whole polite conversation bit. It hasn’t really been part of my job for a long time.” Erik couldn’t help the biting tone.  He couldn’t believe he had to tell them that.  But living in a big giant house with lots of money and a picture perfect childhood didn’t make you the most adept at recognizing your own privilege, he supposed.

“I thought, if you’d like, Erik, I might give you a tour?  I can show you to your room, of course, but I thought you might be interested in the rest of the grounds and rooms as well?  If you’re not, that’s no problem, it’s purely at your discretion.” There it was.  Erik had known it would be coming, the moment when Charles excused the both of them for some ridiculous reason so he could test out his new goods.  It always came.

And yet, Erik was slightly hurt.  He’d had that littlest bit of hope that maybe Charles was the better man, that he was who he acted like.  That had been quashed.  He took in Charles’ appearance, attempting to guess what he’d want.  Probably had a servitude kink, living in a house like this.  He probably expected Erik to just hop to without prompting, like his servants had his whole privileged life.  Erik could do that.  He would enjoy it, feeling Charles’ warm flesh over him, his prick filling him up.  This was no different than all of his other owners.  Charles was just another cog in the societal machine of oppression.

 “That would be grand.”

Erik lounged on the table as they cleared up, stretching himself out like a cat and highlighting his physique.  He saw Charles looking interestedly, giving him a once over as if he were picking a pig for slaughter.  At Charles’ expression, Erik supposed that he passed. 

“Erik, I can show you up now, if you’d like?” Charles was smiling.  Erik wondered when the last time he’d been fucked was, if ever.  He hoped he wasn’t a virgin.  He’d been with a number of virgins who had bought him for practice before they got into real relationships.  The sex was tedious and unsatisfying.

Erik followed him out, expecting him to go straight to Erik’s room.  When the tour began, he was decidedly surprised.  And when it continued, he was more so.  Charles was wasting the time he’d bought with his tour bullshit to actually give him a tour.  He could be fucking Erik right now, but instead he was talking about original architecture and Swarovski crystal chandeliers as if Erik gave a damn.  Maybe he wanted a fast fuck.  Or maybe he got off on the idea of Raven catching them.

They approached Erik’s room and he tried to relax.  It would hurt less that way; he knew from experience.  And his owners liked it when he was relaxed.  It made them feel like they were more in control or attractive or some shit.  He didn’t know.

“Here’s your room, it locks from the inside.” Yeah, right.  Locks from the inside and Charles had the key, most likely. “And through here is the restroom.  There are towels on the shelf and a whole array of toiletries in the cabinet and under the sink; if we overlooked anything we can send out for it, or if you have any preferences for anything.  Raven and I try to buy fair trade, organic products but if you don’t like anything don’t hesitate to mention it; we can make a trip into town and pick up whatever works for you.” Organic and fair trade.  As if he had preferences.  He was lucky to even get toiletries as a slave.  Usually, he got a bar of soap.  Made it kinkier in the shower, he supposed, when he dropped it.    

Erik shut the door silently and made quick work of the buttons on the upper half of his jumpsuit.  He thought he’d best start off with oral; Charles would probably go for the dominance in that.  Men in his position tended to like Erik on his knees.  Then he’d see if Charles wanted to fuck him or what.

His torso was bare and his hand was on his zipper when Charles turned around.  Charles yelped and slapped a hand over his eyes, startling Erik into stillness.  That wasn’t a reaction he’d had before.

“What on earth are you doing?” Charles’ voice had risen about an octave and a half.  Erik was entirely confused.  This didn’t seem like any potentially fulfilling roleplay scenario to him.  He’d been in those, but they usually resulted in an overly husky tone, not a decent impression of a thirteen year old girl.

“What I assumed you wanted.  I’ve been with men like you before.  I understand how it works.” Erik watched him, trying to puzzle it out.  Charles wasn’t hard, and he genuinely looked uncomfortable.  Maybe he had in mind some sort of domination scenario, where Erik took advantage of him against his will?  Maybe that’s what he’d been waiting for all along: for Erik to jump him in the library and press into him against the books or against the original wood paneling.  He did seem like a submissive, actually.  But his behavior wasn’t exactly begging Erik to jump him.

“I’m sorry, my friend, but what exactly do you mean?  I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Charles’ voice was more normal, but a deep red flush was unfurling out of the neck of his cardigan.  Erik stayed put.

“I understand that you want your sister to think that you’re above all this, that you would never have a sex slave, that it was a mistake in my being sent here.  So you’ll set me up with a nice, private room that locks from the inside, and then make up excuses to come see me here, like you’re showing me around, so you can get what you paid for.  I won’t tell her about you.” He spoke slowly.  He felt unbearably naked for the first time in many years, and he was still half clothed.

“I really don’t want that, Erik.  I-I really want you to be comfortable here, and I have no designs on taking anything from you that you do not wish to offer.  I’m not looking for that, really.” So Charles wanted him to offer it up.  He could have just asked for his permission earlier.  Erik was rapidly reevaluating his opinion of Charles.  He’d thought this would be enjoyable but it was rapidly becoming unpleasant and uncomfortable.  It was the least sexy introduction he’d ever had, to be honest, and compared to his first time, that was saying something.

“I’m offering, Charles.  I don’t mind.  I won’t object to you fucking me.” Erik tried to put as much truth as he could into his tone, and then he did what Emma had taught him and thought hard, directing his imaginations outward.  He pictured Charles fucking him hard from behind, sucking Charles off, letting Charles fuck his mouth, Charles’ lips around his length, Charles coming on his face.  He tried to imagine what it would feel like, taste like, smell like.  He had a lot to draw from.  If Charles was a telepath, this was probably what he wanted.  He wanted some weird mind feeling that Erik was into it.  Erik could give him that.  It certainly wasn’t the weirdest thing he’d had to do.

“I mind very much, Erik.  Thank you for the offer, but I must be going.  If you’ll excuse me.” Erik watched as Charles moved vaguely in the direction of the door, hand still covering his eyes.  The images in his head died as he watched his new owner bump into the doorjamb and then feel around for the doorknob, hastily making his exit.  It was the most comical exit Erik had ever been privy to, yet he didn’t feel like laughing.

Charles was claiming that he really didn’t want Erik as a sex slave.  That he just wanted Erik here as a guest.  Erik didn’t buy it.  He’d never known that to be a truth.  People were greedy bastards and, when given a free sex slave, they didn’t just turn up their nose.  Hell, when given the option to pay exhorbitant amounts of money for a sex slave, they still didn’t turn up their nose.  So why was Charles being so difficult?

Maybe he wanted to come surprise Erik in the middle of the night.  Make him feel safe and comfortable and then come on him in the middle of the night without preparation.  Maybe he had a rape kink.  Erik hoped not.  He valued his sleep highly and he didn’t think highly of the prospect of many nights of sleep interrupted by painful fucks from Charles. 

He realized belatedly that he was standing half dressed in the middle of the room.  He continued shucking off his prison garb; he’d be damned if he had to keep that thing on.  Hopefully, if Charles was indeed so thoughtful, there would be some clothes.

There were some generic clothes in the closet, including a grey sweatsuit.  Erik tugged it on and stepped into the bathroom to splash water on his face.  If his afternoon was going to be wasted anyway, he might as well go for a run.  If they kept up the scone diet, he’d definitely need it.

He stepped out the front door and just started running out, away from the confines of the mansion.  To him, this was a test.  He would see how serious Charles really was, see if he got a summons back to the house when he was out of sight or if he was left to his own choices.  Typically, his owners didn’t feel comfortable letting him run outside without a damn collar or wristband.  He felt oddly weightless without either. 

He ran until he was high with it, until his situation felt beneath him and he felt like he could do anything.  When he reached that point of euphoria, the metal in everything sang to him: the metal in his own bloodstream, in the telephone wires, in the big satellite dish that was unfortunately placed in view of the mansion.  He looped back, returning to the mansion a sweaty mess.  He figured Charles would be waiting for him on the stoop, wanting to make sure his property returned, and he was not wrong.  His owner was standing on the top step, arms crossed, looking pensively into the bushes.  Erik had to admit he was rather beautiful like that, with the light breeze blowing through his hair and his ridiculous sweater making him look past his years. 

He jogged up to him and stopped a few feet away, waiting for Charles to speak.  He wanted nothing more than to just go in and take a shower, but Charles had the control, obviously, so he would wait for Charles to say whatever he wanted to say.  Or do whatever he wanted to do.  Maybe that was it.  Maybe he was an outdoors kind of guy.  Hard to believe that about him, though.  Everything about Charles screamed that he liked sitting by a nice fire with a cup of tea and some cookies, not outdoors where there was dirt and cold.

“I’m sorry, my friend,” Charles said this without looking up, and then turned and fixed Erik with a heartbreakingly sincere smile.  “for my behavior earlier.  I had no intention of offending you or of making you feel anything less than perfectly at home, and I wanted to make sure you knew that.  This is going to be difficult for the both of us, I think.  But I wanted you to know, you’re not alone now.  You will never be alone again, and you will never go wanting again.  You’re free to go, if you choose, but I think that staying here might be more pleasant for some time.  I give you your papers,” at this Charles held out his papers in a pristine, cream envelope, “and your freedom.”

Erik stared down at the envelope uncomprehendingly.  Slowly, as if of its own volition, his hand rose and his fingers closed around the vellum.  Charles withdrew his hand.  Erik remained frozen.

So he hadn’t been lying.  Charles had meant every word he’d said.  Erik was free, in almost every sense of the word.

And, for the first time in a long, long while, he wasn’t alone.


	3. Charles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soon, there will be serious plot. For now, we have character development.

For Charles, using his power had always been easy compared to not using his power.  As he stood on the steps of his own house, staring at the immobile man in front of him, he nearly caved.  He was tempted to delve into that ordered perfection, sort through it all and figure out what on earth Erik had been thinking about for the two whole minutes in which he had stood, frozen, hand still outstretched and staring at nothing.

He’d always been impatient.  It was one of his many flaws.  But he felt more involved than usual, watching Erik.  He felt unreasonably invested in the other man’s reaction.  Why should he care if Erik left?  He’d been at the mansion for mere hours.  Charles had no right to be attached to him.  He’d rejected the man’s offer of sex, for god’s sake.

Yet, he still felt nauseous with the thought of Erik leaving, and his lips were tightly shut over the pleas to stay that he wanted to make to Erik. 

He’d always intended to give Erik his papers.  He’d merely forgotten in the arrival, and then resolved himself to do so afterwards as a sign of goodwill (and hopefully as a means to end Erik’s sexual advances).  Now that he’d given them to Erik, he was utterly confused.  He’d expected some sort of reaction, not the absolute vacancy Erik had instantly assumed.

Charles was about to cave and just take a tiny peek to make sure Erik’s mind was still functioning when the hand dropped.  Erik pressed the papers to his chest and smiled at Charles (admittedly slightly predatorily).

“I guess I apologize for earlier, then.” Erik didn’t specify what exactly he was apologizing for, but Charles could guess.  He tried to keep the flush from his face and failed mostly.  It would be weeks before he could force himself to forget the fantasies Erik had forced upon him. 

“There’s no need to, but I sincerely appreciate your intentions,” he replied.  “I’m glad to see some of the clothes we bought fit you.  We tried to buy a whole range, but obviously we’ll need to head into town soon to pick up some things that are more to your taste.  You can set the day; Raven will be here for a couple more days before she returns to New York, and we can go with her or not, it’s your preference.  I’ll probably have to head into town with her tomorrow; she likes to make sure that I buy food that’s good for me and not just that tastes good, and I indulge her.  And we’re going to hire a cook, probably.  My cooking skills don’t extend past baked goods.” He was rambling.  Again.  Something in Erik made him lose control, just a bit, as if he simultaneously wanted to share everything about himself and turn and run, never to be seen again.  He recognized the signs of infatuation he was unfortunately feeling, and mentally kicked himself for it.  He would break himself of those feelings in a few days at most.

“I’d like to go with you both tomorrow.  If that’s alright.” Erik spoke cautiously.  Charles smiled indulgingly at Erik’s progress in asking for what he desired.  It was a small step, but an important one, in his mind.  Becoming comfortable in Charles’ house would be a long and arduous process, undoubtedly, and getting used to his freedom would be difficult as well for Erik.  But these small signs of progress were encouraging. 

It belatedly occurred to him that perhaps he should hire a psychologist to help his new friend.  His new guest, he mentally corrected himself; they had certainly not gained a level of comfort with each other indicative of friendship yet.  It would probably be an overstep to hire a psychologist for someone you’d just met, or for someone else period.  He’d offer to, much later, maybe.  He felt irrationally afraid of scaring Erik off.  That was the infatuation, probably.  He had to quash that.

“That is definitely alright.  We can look around in town and see if anything suits you; if nothing does, we can always order some things or I can ask Henry to custom make some clothes.  He’s been our tailor my whole life and I can guarantee he knows his business.” Erik looked uncomfortable.  Damn it all.  He didn’t know what he’d said that had ruined the tenuous balance they’d so carefully attained.   He tried again.  “If you’d like, perhaps we could have a chess match after dinner?  I find the game to be relaxing, and it’s been a long time since I’ve had anyone to play against.  Raven dislikes it on principle.  Says she can’t indulge my reclusiveness.” Self-deprecation might work with Erik, Charles thought, to make him feel at ease.  Charles was self-deprecating by nature anyway, so it wasn’t as though he could help it.

“That would be interesting.” Erik responded.  Charles chose to take that as a yes.

“Great!  Well, I’ll let you get on with your day; we’ll probably have dinner at around six thirty.  Raven and I are attempting to make fish, and we’ll see how that goes.  We’ll give you a shout when it’s ready; come at your leisure.” He stuck his hands in his pockets for lack of anything better to do and backed up a step, giving a last smile before turning and jogging up the final few steps and heading inside.  He’d done well, he thought.  As well as could be hoped, at any rate.

He headed toward the kitchen, intending to help Raven prepare the meal.  When she returned home, she became the real cook by default, taking up the mantle where she declared Charles obviously deficient.  Charles had tried to cook for her several times, but he favored comfort food which she pronounced unhealthy and too starchy.  So now they ate fewer potatoes and more broiled things and leafy greens.  Charles didn’t mind, really.  It wasn’t that he didn’t like healthy food; he really did.  Just, left to his own devices, he tended to gravitate towards cooking what was unhealthy for him. 

Raven was already bustling around, a whole array of ingredients on the island in front of her.  She wore the apron Charles had gotten her for Christmas a few years before, and it warmed him to see it.  It felt like home, and Raven felt like the family she was.  She hadn’t been there for some time, but she could just pick right up again where she’d left off and it felt entirely natural. 

“If you’re done standing there watching me work, you could make the salad.  I swear even you can do it: you just need to dump everything in a bowl and stir.” She told him with a smile.  Charles couldn’t help but smile back; it was reflex for him.  His proper upbringing told him that no matter what he was feeling, even if he felt hopeless and tiny and like nothing would ever be okay again, if someone smiled at him, he smiled back.  With Raven, it never felt taxing to return her happy gestures, for which he was thankful.

“I suppose I might be able to do something of the sort.” He responded.  He washed his hands, first, ever the meticulous one when it came to cleanliness.  He pushed up the sleeves of his sweater so they wouldn’t interfere and then hastily pulled them back down when he saw the red marks from his fingernails.  He looked guiltily at Raven to see if she’d seen but she was absorbed in doing some sort of food preparation. 

There was soft music playing from the radio in the corner, undoubtedly from one of Raven’s stations.  Her taste was either much too exciting for Charles or much too calm: she liked both the popular, fast paced, songs and the subdued classical music channel.  Charles liked the in between, just enough energy to keep him going but enough calm for it to feel natural.  Today was classical.

“I had a talk with Erik.  I think it went well.” He spoke as he rinsed out the salad bowl and then the greens themselves.  He wished he could change before dinner in a manner that wouldn’t provoke Raven’s keen suspicion; the sleeves of his sweater were soaked already.

“You think it went well? Or you know?” Raven gave him a knowing look, and he sighed audibly under her scrutiny.

“I think.  I wouldn’t invade his privacy like that, Raven.  Not for something as trivial as that.” He loved his sister, really he did, but she was always very quick to assume the worst of him and it grated on him.  He wasn’t constantly attempting to invade everyone else’s privacy, regardless of whatever she believed.  And he never invaded her privacy, so in his eyes, her low opinion of him was unfounded. 

“Yes, yes, of course.  Silly me.  What did you talk about?  The weather?  His fantastic looks?” Raven gave him another white toothed grin. 

“I gave him his papers.  We’re going to have a chess match after dinner.” Charles responded primly, dumping the damp lettuce into the bowl and adding the vegetables Raven had thoughtfully chopped with one sweep of the knife.  Raven tugged it out of his hand.

“Jeez, I don’t think you should be handling that.  God knows what could happen with your reflexes, big brother.” She set the knife down carefully out of his reach.  “But that’s certainly progress.  Talking is a good first step.  Chess is probably a good first step in converting him to your nerd ways, but other than that, it could make him more at ease here.  There’s little else we can do, bar an _intervention_ ” at this she tapped her temple meaningfully, “or an invite to group therapy, and honestly, I think he’d kill us if we tried either.”

“I wish there was more we could do for him.” A tiny voice in his head reminded him that Erik was a person and not a charity case, and that he should treat him as such.  He tossed the salad, his face inscrutable as only he could make it.  After a childhood of hearing how people read his expressions, he learned how to be a blank slate.  Having Raven learn that he was infatuated with Erik would be bad for all involved, and he didn’t intend to let that happen.

“Well, are we at least going to get him proper clothes?  Your taste is atrocious, Charles.  Normal people don’t wear sweaters at every time of every day, and I’m sure he wants some things to call his own.  At least we’re getting a cook; he’s been traumatized enough without being subjected to your cooking skills.” Their banter continued on as dinner was prepared; they spoke of everything without speaking of anything in the way that only family could.  When dinner approached being ready, Charles buzzed the PA in Erik’s room.  His mother had installed the housewide PA system when he was young so she could communicate with him when he had locked himself in his room (which was frequent) and so that she needn’t get up to speak to him, or to ask him to bring her aspirin or more liquor.  Now it was convenient method to let guests know that dinner was ready.

“Soup’s on when you’re ready, Erik!” He called out, attempting to make his voice as happy as possible.  Raven had already taken everything out to the table, so he fetched drinks, gathering wine (for himself), iced tea (for Raven), cranberry and orange juice and water, hoping that something there would be up to Erik’s taste.  He poured drinks for himself and his sister and they tucked in to wait for their guest.

Erik appeared in the doorway in moments, looking fresh and well dressed.  He was wearing a sweater that Charles had chosen, and it looked very suitable on him.  Charles swallowed primly and put on his best company smile.

“Erik, glad to see you’ve come down.  We put you at the head of the table.” Charles indicated the seat they’d laid and Erik made his way over, looking suspicious of the whole business.  Charles wanted to reassure him that no one was lurking behind the furniture waiting to attack him, but Erik had very legitimate reasons to be cautious.  The only way to show him he was safe was to continue on, affirming the safety of his position at every turn.

He smiled across at Raven, just a subtle turn of his lips, at his good manners.  They were like conspiring schoolchildren, smiling where the matron couldn’t see them.  It was immature, but very hard to go against.

“Could I get you something to drink?  We have wine, water, tea, juice… and we could always put on a pot of coffee, if you’d like.” Raven offered a polite smile of her own to Erik, leaning toward him ingratiatingly.  Erik looked stiffer juxtaposed against his sister’s usual fluidity. 

“Water’s fine.  Thanks.”  Erik intoned his response without emotion, an automaton.  It made Charles sick to think of how he’d acquired that habit.

Raven poured him a glass, and the sounds of pouring water swelled and reverberated in the ornate dining room.  When she had finished, Charles raised his glass in a toast. 

“To Erik.  May you be happy and comfortable here.” He clinked his glass with his sister’s, and then with Erik’s, taking a liberal drink afterwards.  Raven pressed lightly on his foot and he made a sour face at her.  She thought he was a lush, amongst her other low opinions of him.

The conversation languished quickly.  Each time he and Raven attempted to start a new thread of to converse about, Erik ended it with terse, monosyllabic answers, his tone indicating that the discussion was irksome and inconvenient.  Charles kept his head down, chewing robotically.  He’d been to many a silent dinner in his time, many of them taking place in the very room they sat in.  No one held a silence like his mother, particularly after she’d had a few drinks.

He supposed it was fair that Erik didn’t desire to speak.  It had been a long day and he doubtless found convention and contrived polite conversation irritating.  Charles didn’t like to admit that that inference was less a result of his observation of Erik’s actions but rather of Erik’s conscience brushing against his own each time he passed.  Unless Charles made a concerted effort, he felt a sort of aura around people.  It wasn’t invasive, typically, just the sort of feeling one acquired after knowing someone for a while.  Charles could tell that Erik was blunt and intimidating, that he didn’t like contrivance or convention, that he enjoyed solitude and physical exertion and that he felt things very deeply.  He could just feel these things from the tendrils of Erik’s own mind reaching out to his own.  He rarely spoke of it, but the truth was, most of the time he didn’t bother digging for info- other people’s minds came on their own.  He shut people out constantly, and almost never had to invade.  When he did enter a person’s mind, their subconscious almost always welcomed him, enjoying the human contact.  He supposed it was a facet of the human condition- humans were social creatures by nature, and their minds affirmed this.  Given the opportunity to connect with another individual, they grasped it.

When they finished the last bits of dinner, Charles stretched languorously and stood to clean up.  Raven and Erik stood as well, and he urged them to sit.  Usually, Raven would help him, but he wouldn’t want to impose on Erik as a guest and he thought that having Raven sit with him might make him more comfortable.  So he bustled off to the kitchen loaded down with trays and pitchers, and returned with soap up to his elbows to the very welcome sight of his compatriots laughing.  He sat down temporarily, smiling at them both.

“Did I miss something entertaining?” He asked interestedly.  Raven bit back her giggles with difficulty to respond.

“I was just telling Erik some of the things you did during dinner when you were younger.  Notably the naked incident.” Charles managed to hide his blanch.  That wasn’t a happy incident: when he’d been about seven, he’d come down to dinner naked to prove that his mother barely noticed him.  Sure enough, it hadn’t been her to reprimand him, despite her presence across the table from him for two courses.  When his nanny had entered holding his dinner clothes his mother had finally taken notice, decided herself scandalized and confined him to his room for the rest of the night.  It wasn’t particularly humorous in his memory.

“I was telling Erik how funny you looked, having polite conversation with Mum in absolutely nothing, looking smug as can be at having been proven right.” He didn’t remember feeling smug; mostly, he remembered feeling dejected that his mother truly did take so little notice of him.  But he supposed that he must have acted out the part of a smug schoolboy for Raven’s benefit.  “And even when Nanny had to take you away, you just looked so righteous and proud, walking up the stairs butt naked.” Charles forced a smile.  He’d never objected to being the butt of a joke before, but now he felt sick about it.  Perhaps he felt marginalized, left out by his sister and potential friend.  Perhaps it was his wounded pride, recognizing that Erik would likely never reciprocate his attraction if he heard all of Charles’ embarrassing childhood stories.  Perhaps it was having to relive bitter memories.  Either way, he felt sickened. 

“I’d forgotten about that.  How time flies.” He commented politely, standing once more to finish clearing up. “I’ll leave Erik and you to your storytelling; I’d just interfere.  I’ll just finish washing up, Erik, and then we can have a match.” He didn’t make eye contact with either of them, acting as though he had to focus on the plates in his hands.  In fact, he seriously doubted that he could reliably control his expression. 

He gave himself a moment to pull himself together in the kitchen, breathing in and out, practicing his yoga breaths as his coach had instructed him to do.  He scrubbed idly at the food stuck on to the serving dishes; that was him, washing down the sink, the grime stuck to the silver tray, the blemish in his family history.  All around him was silver gilt and he was a crusty bit of meat. 

He pulled himself back from wallowing before anything irrational happened; he still needed to play a match against Erik, and he couldn’t exactly go to pieces in front of their new guest.  It didn’t speak well for the reasonability of Erik staying, and for Erik his best course of action really was to stay.

Within the walls of the mansion, Charles could protect him.  Legally, slaves could not be punished in the eyes of the law while under the care of their master.  Their master had to pay for all of their wrongs, as the only one treated as a human in the eyes of the courts.  Out of the care of a master, however, a slave was treated as a runaway, and punishment was lavished upon them for anything the courts could think of.  If Erik left and was found out as a former slave, even if he had his papers, Charles couldn’t guarantee he would be safe.  He couldn’t force Erik to stay.  But he could make it as easy and comfortable as possible for him to remain.

When he finished with the dishes, he was soaked to the elbows.  He stopped by the dining room where Raven and Erik were again laughing to say he’d meet Erik in the upstairs library after changing.  Their camaraderie shouldn’t have offended Charles; he should have been glad.  But he was in fact jealous of their easygoing friendliness.  Raven had that effect; she was easy to get along with.  Charles didn’t have that careless affability, but he wished he did. 

He took an extra moment in changing to gather his thoughts.  He appreciated these moments alone; like a deep breath of fresh air they allowed him to reset and get his head on straight.  He steeled himself to return to socializing, straightened his sweater (a new one, the soaked one having been left in the bath to dry) and stepped out into the hall.  His steps were silent on the plush carpet as he made his way to the library, for which he was grateful.  He didn’t think he could stand the staccato noise of footsteps at that point; he felt much too raw, as if the slightest vibration of noise would tear him apart.

The solid wooden door was difficult to open, as usual, and he leaned his whole weight against it in an attempt to convince it to consider movement.  It swung slowly and resentfully, as if Charles had interrupted its slumber.  Most of the old mansion seemed to resent his presence, taking every opportunity to squeal and creak under his touch.

“Those hinges need to be oiled.” Erik’s voice sounded from the corner and Charles looked up impulsively, their gaze locking. He felt lost and trapped all at once, as though the weight of the world was held in the balance of the moment and he just knew he was going to screw it up, could feel it in his bones, his very core.  Erik looked unashamed, as if daring him to say something.

The moment dragged on.  Erik finally broke it, looking over Charles’ shoulder towards the door as though he could get a better look at the problematic hinges from his seat 12 meters off.  Charles was vindictively pleased to notice the slight flush on Erik’s cheekbones.  He took a moment to clear his throat, moving over to the crystal decanter of whisky and pouring himself two fingers.

“Would you like some, Erik?” He asked.  He was met with a rigid shake of the head, and he shrugged, savoring the burn of his own glass.  Erik was already sitting on one side of the chess set, the white pieces arrayed before him.  Charles took the other side.

“Shall we begin?” Erik’s voice was a medley of sound: rough and smooth all at once, much like the whiskey he was enjoying.  Charles found it fascinating and somewhat intoxicating; he yearned to hear more of it.

“Of course.  Your move, my friend.” He caught his slip a moment too late: it was presumptuous at best for him to refer to Erik as his friend.  He had no hold on him resembling friendship; they were acquaintances at best.  But Erik’s eyes crinkled just slightly at his mistake, as if he enjoyed being called friend.  It was very tempting to peek.

Erik began the game with a confident flick of his wrist, using the metal bases of the pieces to maneuver them about.  Charles went the old fashioned way, picking up a pawn and carefully setting it down two spaces off. 

They continued in silence for a few minutes, comfortably but verging on clinical.  He searched for a topic that would be easy to speak of.

“Would you mind telling me where you’re from, Erik?  I realize I have no clue.” He gave an encouraging smile and was met with Erik’s clear eyed and calculating stare.  He didn’t waver.  After a couple seconds had passed, Erik returned his eyes to the board.

“I was born in a small town in Germany.  My parents were human.  They knew I was a mutant shortly after my first birthday.  I was found out by the government when I was thirteen.  I was sold the first time shortly after my fourteenth birthday.” Erik’s sentences were terse and clipped, as though he found them distasteful but necessary.  Likely he’d given this spiel before.  Charles interrupted him.

“We needn’t speak of anything uncomfortable.  I only wondered where you came from.  If you’d like, we can speak of something else.” He attempted to make peace.  Erik’s eyes remained averted.

“We needn’t speak.” He finally responded, giving Charles that piercing gaze once more.  His eyes were so clear, clearer than anyone else Charles had ever seen.

“We needn’t speak.” Charles repeated, moving his pawn dutifully.

They lapsed into a not uncomfortable silence, completing the game in roughly an hour.  Charles won, but not by much.  Erik was no slouch at chess.  His whiskey glass having been refilled twice by the end of the match, Charles felt pleasantly warm and languid.  He smiled ingratiatingly at Erik and drained the last of his drink economically.

“That was pleasant.  I enjoyed myself.” He told him seriously.  Erik remained stock still in his seat, smiling just slightly in that predatory manner of his that was fast becoming familiar.  He reminded Charles of a shark, assessing calmly with his unblinking gaze and showing his teeth in a display of power. 

“It was an enjoyable game.” Erik qualified.  They both rose, leaving the pieces as they were.  Charles would reset them later. 

“Well, good night then, Erik.  I’ll give you a knock at ten tomorrow, if you aren’t already up, so you can get some breakfast before we all head into town.  I typically sleep until around nine, thought Raven’s up much earlier.  If you need anything don’t hesitate to wake me; I won’t mind.” Charles belatedly realized that his words could be easily misconstrued and cursed the alcohol running through his system, furiously pretending his light blush hadn’t appeared.  “Anyway, sleep well and see you in the morning.” He smiled one last time and slipped out, making his way to his room before he could embarrass himself further.  He brushed his teeth quickly, reliving his verbal shame and repressing the desire to hit his head against the nearest available hard surface.  Moments later he was in bed and moments after that, asleep.

 

 

The next morning found Charles deeply unsettled.  It was raining, which meant the whole mansion felt more formidable than usual and unfortunately damp.  It didn’t actually leak, but the very walls seemed to retain the unpleasantly cold spirit.  Charles tucked himself deeper into his blankets, resolving to stay in bed all day.  Abruptly, the past day’s events returned to him and he sat bolt upright, immediately regretting as cold air hit his bare torso like thousands of prickly needles.  He took a deep breath and slid out of bed, fetching his robe from the closet and shuffling over to brush his teeth.  The tile of the bathroom was murderous on his bare feet and he resolved to put on socks before going down to breakfast. 

Once he was minty fresh and shod, he stepped out, not bothering to replace his robe.  It would do for breakfast, as it always had.  Then he would change into something more suitable.

He shuffled toward the kitchen, eyes not entirely open.  He wasn’t a morning person.  He usually got up to jog at dawn, but it was supposed to be his one day a week off.  Usually he took that day to laze around and sleep in abominably late.  Unfortunately, he had actual responsibilities like a real adult. 

He heard voices coming from the kitchen as he neared and mentally reevaluated his wardrobe.  It had seemed perfectly reasonable to his sleep addled brain to go to breakfast with untidy hair in his bathrobe, but as he became more and more awake, it began to seem less and less reasonable.  He briefly considered turning back around but his escape was thwarted by the appearance of his sister in the doorway, looking bright eyed as ever.

“Charles!  You’re awake! I was just about to go take your blankets, you lazy.  It’ nearly ten..” She didn’t bat an eye at his choice of apparel, so he forged bravely on.

“Food?” He questioned hopefully.  She smiled ingratiatingly.

“There are scones from yesterday, if you’d like some, and I made an omelet which you’re welcome to as well.  There’s tea, of course.” She gestured around as if it were in fact her kitchen rather than his, which was fair since it had been both of theirs growing up.  She knew it at least as well as he did.  When he stepped through the doorway, his traitorous eyes immediately swiveled to focus on Erik, who was clad tantalizingly in a form fitting grey shirt and sweats.  He smiled politely, mentally cajoled himself for not looking like a god at the breakfast table, and shuffled over to acquire some tea.  He stood at the counter and drank it in silence, each gulp giving him a bit more strength with which to face the oncoming day.  Every day for him started with tea (which was likely why he had such a high cosmetic dentistry bill; whitening really did add up) though frequently it was iced.  He’d make a pitcher of iced tea the night before his runs so that he didn’t have to get up earlier than necessary to brew it.  He’d learned to value his sleep in school, one of the few useful things Oxford had taught him.

“So I was thinking we could leave at eleven thirty, if we’re all amenable?  We could shop a bit, and then get a late lunch in town perhaps?” Raven, as usual, stepped in just as the silence was stretching on.  Charles would have to thank her; she always stepped in to remedy the social situation when he gaffed.  Erik nodded, staring out the window placidly.  He had a cup of what looked like coffee in front of him; Charles made a mental note to pick up a nicer machine than the beat up old thing that was a lingering memento of his university days.  He’d tasted the swill it produced and pitied anyone that had to drink it on a regular basis. 

“Sounds great to me.” He sat down across from Erik with a plate of eggs and a scone.  Just one; he thought Raven should be proud. 

“Alright, well, I’ll leave you two be.  I’m going to actually get some work done.” And like that, Raven was gone.  Erik continued staring outside in a manner which made it obvious that conversation would be unwelcome.  Charles focused on his food.  He could feel Raven’s mental presence getting farther and farther away while Erik’s remained in close proximity.  Erik, as usual, was an enigma: his thoughts felt tangled and conflicted from the outside, and Charles yearned to ask him what occupied his mind.  Social nicety compelled him to continue eating in silence.

He’d refilled his cup before Erik broke from his reverie.  Charles could feel when his mental turmoil smoothed somewhat, becoming if not a glassy lake at least a locked box, all the uncomfortable things shoved behind smooth steel doors.  He could feel Erik’s intentions to ask him something before the words came out.

“How would you like for me to act in town?” Erik, as usual, was blunt and intensely focused.  His profile was beautiful, even as he stared Charles down, and his brow was high and clear.  He would have been a beautiful muse for someone artistic; maybe Raven could work on that.  There wasn’t an artistic bone in Charles’ body.

“Act as my slave or not, you mean?” Charles cut to the quick, feeling no need to cushion his words around Erik.  Somehow, he doubted his attempts to not be indelicate would only irk his new guest.

“Yes.  It’s illegal, basically, for you to free me.  It would put you in danger for me not to act as your slave if others know I am a slave.” _Did you brag about me?_ Charles read from his question.  He felt simultaneously wounded and angry.  How low Erik must think of him, but how low society was. 

“Since no one knows you are a slave, you can be introduced as a friend of mine from university.  If you could restrain yourself from any showy displays of your power, I would be indebted.” Charles resolved to be as blasé as Erik about it all; he continued eating as if he could care less about the whole business. 

There was silence for a few moments; Charles could feel the swirly raincloud vibes coming from Erik’s mind that indicated he was deep in thought.

“Will there be other slaves in town?” Erik was just as matter of fact in his asking as in everything else, but Charles could feel the apprehension in his mind. 

“Probably not.  I’m sure people around here have them; it’s a wealthy, traditional neighborhood.  But it’s not in vogue to bring slaves to show off; it’s passé.” Never had he sounded like such a pompous git in his life, but that was the true sentiment toward slaves.  They were fine to have, but it was tacky to show them off, just like any other property.  It was disgusting.

Erik gave a derisive snort and kept eating.  Charles followed his lead.

 

The car ride was painful.  Raven drove, as per her desire always, leaving Charles and Erik in the backseat.  Erik had chosen the backseat due to unknown motives and Charles preferred it as there was less wind when Raven was driving.  Raven insisted on leaving the windows and sunroof open, which resulted in very windblown hair and hair in his eyes and wind noise and overall an overwhelming cacophony of sensation for Charles.  Hence, the backseat. 

The car was Raven’s.  It was a tiny red BMW coupe that Charles had bought her for her eighteenth birthday and that she had poured more love and care into than Charles had thought possible.  Living in Manhattan, she had little use for it, but she enjoyed driving it overly fast when she came to visit Charles.  Charles had never replaced his mother’s cars, and used those when he had to.  He preferred not leaving the house, but he recognized that that was rarely a healthy way to lead his life. 

The cars he owned were overly luxurious, but he felt it was even more decadent to buy a new car simply because he felt uncomfortable using his perfectly good ones.  His mother’s pet car was a hunter green Aston Martin DB4 convertible which had less mileage than virtually any other car of its vintage thanks to her penchant for being driven rather than driving.  Charles had driven it once, after he’d gotten home from university and was feeling reckless and self destructive and the cuts on his skin weren’t enough.  He’d wanted to feel something more, to wake up and feel alive.  So he’d taken it out for a spin and nearly killed himself and another car (a child and mother; he’d felt their fear).  There’d been no crash; he and the car survived without a scratch but he’d learned his lesson.  His issues did not give him the license to ever hurt another.  And so that car had been retired.

The other car was a behemoth and Charles personally hated driving it.  It was more sedately, however, and less tempting to drive dangerously and thus his favored automotive pick.  Thomas had been its driver when he was young, an older straight laced Englishman her mother had found who knows where, but Thomas had passed away soon after his mother and Charles didn’t have the heart to replace him.

“So, Charles, are there any specific stops you’d like to make today?  Maybe to buy something that isn’t a sweater?” Raven teased him lightly, smiling at him in the rear view mirror.

“I’d appreciate if we could stop to pick up a new coffee maker.  Mine is ancient as you well know and I think it is well past time for a replacement.  I was thinking _Sur la Table_ would have something decent but you probably know better.” Charles made the attempt to make eye contact and deliver his response with more than perfunctory emotion but Erik was unsettling him.  Halfway through, he turned to stare out the window and watch the countryside fly past.  Most of his focus was going toward not touching Erik accidentally.  He didn’t want to fall into him after a bump, or accidentally brush his sleeve or even share breath.  That would be overwhelming.

“I never thought this day would come, Charles.  I’m so proud.” Raven was laughing aloud, the silk scarf she’d tied around her hair flapping in the wind.  Charles enjoyed denoting moments that were beautiful; he’d learned to make an attempt to appreciate life and included within that was appreciating beauty.  The tableau in front of him was beautiful: Raven, mid-laugh, hair and scarf streaming behind her in the wind, the countryside a verdant green blur behind her.  He committed it to memory. 

“Do you have any specific stops in mind?” Charles turned to look at Erik out of the corner of his eye.  Erik shrugged, the movement unapologetically aggressive as all of his were.  Erik’s raw power made Charles feel wobbly and shaky internally, and he resolved to focus on something else.  It was just his luck to be forced into owning a slave he was so infatuated with, there was no use denying it.  He would forever have to look and not touch, be consistently reminded that no one would ever care about him.  If Erik brought other men or women home, Charles would feel their passion, and know he could never have that.  He would be a spectator to what he so ardently desired: a life of love and happiness.  That was not in his cards, and he’d resigned himself to this.  Instead, he would buy himself something expensive and superfluous and try to forget.

“I don’t know any store names, but maybe some clothes and shoes.  I wouldn’t mind walking around a bit.” Charles felt rude and embarrassed.  Of course Erik hadn’t been out in some time.  He likely had never been shopping in the United States.  Charles was a privileged git to have overlooked this. 

“I would love to walk around.  There’s a certain peace that only exists in department stores, I think.  There’s a zen in the organized, perfectly presented atmosphere of cosmetic counters, with all the brushes in little containers and stacks of tiny boxes in pretty colors.  I love it.” Raven broke the silence with ease.  Charles once again thanked his lucky stars for her and her assistance in helping with Erik’s arrival.

The situation felt uncomfortable for him.  He could only imagine what it was like for Erik who, while being in a foreign land with people he’d barely met, had also never been out in the consumeristic world that was the United States.


	4. Erik

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I apologize for the delay. As I said before, I'm a uni student in my now second quarter. It's been quite a transition. But here's a little something. More to come. In the interest of actually getting out updates, I make no promise to quality. I may go back and edit later, but for now, I figure it's better for you all for me to actually post the rougher draft than to try to make it perfect for weeks. So I hope you like it! The plot is coming together... I daresay there may even be action coming.

Being in a car, unshackled, wasn’t something he had experienced since Germany.  He had imagined this moment as liberating, the wind in his face and the vista stretching out before him.  He’d also forced himself to stop imagining moments like those, moments of freedom, after three years in slavery.  On his seventeenth birthday, he’d wished for the strength to keep on living and the resolution not to dream of what he couldn’t have.  And he’d done well in that.

              Until Charles.  Until he’d been given his freedom and not only that, a new life with people who seemed genuinely kindhearted and, more importantly, were fellow mutants.  He’d been given disposal of money, more than he’d ever had, and a beautiful estate to explore and call home.  He’d eaten meals with them, heard family stories, and had Charles respect his silence during an hour long chess match.  His life had done an abrupt one eighty in the space of a day.  And while he knew it wasn’t the work of one person, but rather the result of a bizarre contrivance of fate, some part of him felt thankful toward Charles for it.  He knew he shouldn’t have to be thankful for being treated as a sentient creature and not a slave, that he shouldn’t accept slavery as the norm, but he was still thankful to Charles.  There was something about him that made Erik feel hopeful.  It was dangerous.

              There was certainly wind in his face as Raven drove, music playing with loud abandon.  It was a beautiful tableau, but he didn’t feel a part of it.  It was as though he was on the outside watching in, seeing the siblings in their wonderfully perfect life, a life he could never have.  But Erik wanted to be privy to it.  He didn’t hate Charles for having everything, somehow.  Others, yes, he hated.  He had so much hatred for so many people it was hard to control.  He was angry at the system, at the government, at every bystander who let this go on and every worker who was “just following orders”, but he wasn’t angry at Charles.

              Charles was different.

              The car ride was moderately uncomfortable, made bearable mostly by his amusement at how desperately Charles was attempting to keep them from touching.  At every turn, Charles wedged himself tightly against his door to prevent himself from sliding toward Erik in the slightest.  His right hand, closest to Erik, was rigidly pinned against the seat, a good six inches from his own knee.  He’d never seen someone show so much preoccupation with not touching another.  Touch was a part of human life, and he’d certainly been touched by many.  Perhaps that was why Charles was so desperately preoccupied, because he didn’t want to deprive Erik of the control of who touched him, not when he had already been so long deprived.  Erik appreciated the thought. He just thought it crazy that anyone would seriously object to Charles touching them.

              For one, he was so obviously harmless.  He had the physical intimidation of a bunny rabbit.  He looked like he would be a playboy, were he not so insecure.  Erik was positive that there was no way Charles would ever touch him that would bring him harm or discomfort.  He could think of many ways Charles’s touch would bring other sensations….

              No.  He was not going to think those things as he sat beside a telepath.  He’d known Emma too long to not be aware that most telepaths could sense the thoughts or impressions of others around them without even attempting to, and Charles could very well be attempting to.  And Charles was very clear that they were friends.  It amused Erik, his continual repetition of “my friend”, as though he was reminding both of them, checking their actions in the bounds of friendship.  That phrase gave Erik the tiniest hope.  If Charles needed to remind himself they were only friends, perhaps he wanted more.  It was a beautiful thought, but not one he should be considering next to a telepath.

              He turned his thoughts to focusing on the scene around them, the parking lot they were approaching and the shopping plaza behind it.  He hadn’t seen anything like this, ever.  None of his previous owners had ever taken him shopping for anything other than sex toys, and sex shops tended not to be in high class, densely populated malls.  No, they were alone in dark parts of town where people with “propriety” never dared to visit. 

              This was… beautiful, in its own way.  People were walking and laughing, families enjoying a day out, teenagers carrying bags of purchases.  There was a palpable air of joy here; no one was worried or pained.  They hadn’t known what he had known.  This was excess; it was sheltered, privileged citizens spending money others would kill for so they could have enough food to eat.  It was beautiful, but at what cost?

              He knew one cost.  He didn’t have to ask these people to know their hatred and fear toward mutants.  It was present in virtually all people in the US.  86 percent at the last polling had supported mutant slavery.  90 percent had supported some form of mutant registration.

              “Erik?  Are you alright?” Charles’ voice was soft, as usual.  He looked at Erik as though he could sense his anger and distaste.  Perhaps he was offended.  He was one of them, after all.  One of the privileged, untouchable elite. Thank god he’d changed his thoughts earlier.

              But even Charles wasn’t untouchable.  He had quite the Achilles heel, being a mutant.  That was something even money couldn’t fix.  And Erik hoped that he was perhaps attracted to men.  That was almost as taboo as being a mutant. 

              “Fine.” His voice was harsh, as always.  He lacked the patience to speak politely and sweetly as if to a child.  The world hadn’t been polite and sweet to him.  He’d lost the capability.  Or, he thought he’d had. He’d opted not to speak during their chess game the night before, feeling at once too uncomfortable to ask Charles about his life and too exhausted to desire to speak about his own life.  He’d known he wouldn’t be able to facilitate a polite conversation with Charles, and he’d decided it would be easier on both of them to not speak.  That way, he’d been able to observe Charles worrying his lip as he pondered moves and running a hand lazily through his hair more frequently the more he drank.  He was tantalizing.  Erik knew it was crazy; he’d been a sex slave for so many years it was crazy not to relish his new freedom and take a break from the whole oversexualized life.  But for so many years he’d viewed everything in terms of sex, been forced to, that he found it hard to change.  And the aspect of Charles being forbidden didn’t help.  It had been years since he had met someone who didn’t want to have sex with him.  Everyone he was introduced to was intended to have sex with him; it had been the name of the game.  Now, he had the freedom to have friends and acquaintances, know people outside the confines of the bedroom.  It shouldn’t have been unsettling ,yet it was.

              Some part of him recognized that this was unhealthy, most likely.  He wasn’t right in the head anymore.  He’d lost hope and become a cynic, albeit a sexual one.  He probably had psychological damage.  He could imagine the rap sheet he would get if he ever spoke to a therapist: sexually deviant, hypersexual, lacking emotion, asocial, misanthropic, uncaring toward others.  They were all true.

              Yet when he saw how Charles’ face fell and he turned away, as if he’d been wounded by Erik’s terse bluntness, he felt a twinge of regret.  He shouldn’t be harsh to Charles.  The man had never done him any wrong.  He bit out a “thanks” and was rewarded with a smile, an innocent happiness in his big blue eyes.  Erik looked away.  How anyone could seem so idealistic and hopeful, was beyond him. 

Well, not when he remembered Charles’ circumstance.

              A lifetime of being fed off a silver spoon, wanting for nothing and living happily, would leave you with a good deal of hope.  Innocence was not gained, but stripped away.  Charles had had nothing to strip his innocence away. 

              He wasn’t listening to the banter between the two siblings, too distracted by trying to take in everything around him.  The buildings were large, each with its own sign in script advertising the store.  The displays were all flashy and eye catching, an assault of perfumes and handbags and expensive pens, mannequins wearing “fashionable” clothes people paid top dollar for, furniture in sleek shapes and edgy color palettes.  It was alluring, to say the least.  It was unlike anything Erik had ever seen before.  He’d never witnessed such aesthetic beauty in one place.  It was an illusion in many ways, he knew; the point of store fronts was to sell you on the product, to show you a glimpse of how your future could be if you owned the newest shoes or the shiniest pens, but it was an illusion he was happy to indulge in this once.

              He followed Raven sedately into a department store, watching as Raven bounced around, checking out handbags and sunglasses and scarves.  When she noticed Erik and Charles both standing awkwardly, she decked them both out in ridiculous combinations of glasses and scarves and driving gloves.  Her happiness was infectious, to Erik.  He felt like he belonged amongst them, for once, the three of them united against the world, secure in their shared knowledge of each other. 

              Charles retaliated, wrapping Raven in a truly atrocious paisley shawl and a gaudy feathered hat.

              “Which glasses do you think, Erik?” Charles was attempting to include him, sidling up next to him with a pair in each hand.  He chose one arbitrarily and watched as it was put on Raven and the two of them laughed gaily. 

              Raven set the tone for the trip.  She guided Erik to the men’s section and helped him pick out what he liked, with the help of a very polite and admittedly attractive attendant.  He found himself being ushered into a changing room to try on outfits with the strict instruction to wear them out in front of Raven and Charles who were waiting outside. 

              It was goodhearted fun.  Some of the outfits were deemed good on him and others were met with unrestrained laughter from Raven and a few chuckles from Charles.  Eventually Raven coerced Charles into trying on some clothing as well and Erik found himself standing shoulder to shoulder with him under Raven’s inspection.

              He felt young again.  He’d missed doing things just for fun, getting to experience things that were simplistic and carefree rather than continuously weighed down by social conflict and his position.  Shopping with Raven and Charles was hilarious and heartwarming.

              “Oh, Erik, I’m stuck.” Charles called out laughingly from the room beside him, startling him out of his thoughts.  “Could you lend me some assistance?  I’m afraid I’ve horribly entangled a zipper in my hair.”

              He opened his door to Charles, shirt mostly off and looking entirely put out by the quarter zip that was tangled in the ruff of hair over his brow.  The sight of Charles’ unclothed frame made Erik’s heart nearly stop but he attempted to retain control, not to think about it in Charles’ presence who would undoubtedly feel Erik’s change of attitude.

              His fingers were tangled in Charles’ silky hair and he could feel the heat radiating from his slim frame.  Erik resolutely thought of anything else and settled for reciting from his knowledge of psalms.  His mother had always encouraged him to recite daily, and he’d memorized many psalms as a child, but he hadn’t felt their strength in giving him hope and a connection to G-d until he’d been taken as a slave.  Erik could remember his first night away from home, he’d sat alone in his jumpsuit rubbing the still stinging tattoo he’d received with his registration number and recited: _I lift my eyes to the mountains- from where will my help come? My help will come from the Lord, maker of Heaven and Earth.  He will not let my foot falter…_

              He finally succeeded in freeing Charles’ hair, tugging the garment free lest it tangle again.  Charles stood facing him, chest bare, and he couldn’t help it, his concentration faltered and he imagined what it would be like to step forward and truly tangle his hands in Charles’ hair and claim his lips with his own.  He could imagine the noise of surprise Charles would make, the momentary resistance before he gave in, clinging to Erik.

              “Thank you.  I’m glad you’re finding clothes to your taste.” Charles’ voice jarred him from his thoughts and he flushed, nodding sharply before locking himself back in his room once more.  He was in deep.  It was too much for him: the allure of living free with potential mutants alone made him heady with hope.  Living with Charles was a source of joy by itself.  Getting to enjoy the silver spoon Charles had grown up with was more than Erik had ever dared hope for.  He couldn’t screw this up.

              He kept on, changing mechanically into new clothes.  Raven’s unrelenting cheer helped restore the smile to his face and ease his nerves some.  They finished up in that store and went on, wandering along after Raven, burdened with bags of clothing which were mostly Erik’s.  Charles asked if they could stop in an adorable tea shop, and as neither Erik nor Raven seemed capable of denying him, soon Erik found himself sitting in a booth sipping a chai latte, waiting for his chocolate orange bread to be brought out.  It was idyllic.

              The day continued in much the same fashion.  They passed the time easily, talking and laughing about nothing until early afternoon.  It was easy for Erik to forget he did not belong; he felt as though they were his friends already.  He could easily get used to the sound of Charles laughing and the little pleased smiles he gave him when he said something funny, and to the easy teasing Raven dished out, herself unaffected by anything they said in return. 

              By about one o’clock, they were utterly laden down with purchases.  Charles had dragged all of them into a cooking store to search for the perfect coffee machine, asking Erik to sample machine after machine in an endless attempt to please him.  Erik hadn’t the heart to tell him that the machine at home was fine, he hadn’t been used to even receiving food regularly as a slave much less coffee.  Charles had bought the most expensive, highest rated machine and Raven had purchased some expensive exotic oils for her personal cooking use.  All of their purchases were then unceremoniously packed into the trunk of Raven’s tiny convertible so they could head off to lunch.  Erik was lounging against the side of the car, listening to Raven and Charles debate the best lunch place when an admittedly gorgeous woman approached them.

              “Charles?  Is that you?” Charles stiffened just barely and Erik could feel it crashing down, his situation, his hope for the future.  It would all be ruined by some rich biddy Charles knew revealing him as a slave.  He had been stupid in assuming any of this could last; if there was one thing he knew well it was that joy like this did not belong to a man like him.  That lesson had been taught to him ad nauseum.  He froze, watching Charles, waiting for a cue on how to act.  Charles pasted on a fairly believable smile before turning around to greet the voice.  He didn’t seem afraid or threatened, as Erik felt in abundance.              

“Moira!  What a pleasure!  How have you been?” Charles’ voice was perfect, the perfect amount of charm and interest.  Just like that, the situation seemed to balance.  Charles very easily took control, and Erik attempted to fake some semblance of a smile and turned to face her as well.  He felt sick with the pretense of it all, as though at any moment someone would appear and scream out how he was lying, that he was a slave and he should be shackled once more.

              “I’ve been good, really good.  Who are your friends?” Moira held a hand out to Erik ingratiatingly and he took it a second late, unused to being introduced so politely, still terrified of the potential threat Moira represented.  There wasn’t a lot of handshaking as a sex slave.  The last time he’d been introduced to the “friend” of an owner, he’d been stripped nude, blindfolded and tied to the bedframe. 

              That was over, he had to remind himself.  He was free.  He was _free._   Charles wasn’t his owner, rather his… benefactor.  Maybe one day a friend.  And he was smiling.  Moira wasn’t a threat.

              “This is Erik, a friend of mine from my university days, and you’ve met my sister, Raven.  Erik, this is Moira; I collaborated with her on a project a few years back.  She works for the government.” His smile never wavered.  Just like that, it was over: the lie was swallowed hook, line and sinker and no one suspected anything different. 

              “Charles didn’t just collaborate; his research was integral to our reports.  I was sorry that our initiative never passed, but his work provided the basis for our ongoing efforts.” His fear dissipated in the face of Moira’s obvious infatuation with Charles; she’d never harm the man, Erik was certain.  She was flirtatious and touched Charles at every opportunity and Charles, oddly enough for a man who seemed to hate being touched, didn’t flinch away.  Perhaps this was why Charles hadn’t been interested; he wasn’t just not interested in Erik but rather in men.

              He couldn’t believe it had been that easy.  Everything was still fine.  He’d just navigated his first real world encounter and it had gone well.  The hope was back in full force.

              “You flatter me.  I shared what I had already accumulated.  It was very little effort on my part.” Charles paused and Raven cut in smoothly.

              “We were just off to lunch, Moira, if you’d care to join us.  We’d love to have more company.”

              “I’d love to! It would be wonderful to catch up.  It’s so sweet of you to invite me.”

              “Well that’s settled.  Let’s head over, shall we?” Charles and Moira started off, chatting idly about Moira’s newest project.  It was the smoothest social interaction Erik had ever witnessed.  He supposed that’s what years of forced social interactions and dinner parties did for people.  They’d likely had manners classes and cotillions as well.

              “She’s in love with him.  It’s kind of painful to watch.” Raven whispered to him conspiratorially.  He felt accepted more than ever.

              “He’s not in love with her I take it?” Erik attempted to quash the ridiculous hopeful feeling that was gathering within him.  Raven snickered under her breath at his question.

              “I think it’s safe to say that.” Why this was so humorous, Erik was unsure.  Raven continued at a whisper. “Moira is a mutant rights activist working for the government.  She attempted to get a bill passed about humane treatment of mutants.  Charles’ genetics thesis was of some use.  Charles even went to Congress for her to present as an expert witness.  But it failed.  I think Moira wants to believe he helped her so much because he’s in love with her.  Actually, Charles just can’t say no and he has his own ulterior motives.” At this Raven made an encompassing gesture, apparently indicative of the three of them being mutants.  Erik nodded slowly.

              So Charles was working toward mutant rights.  No wonder he had been so shocked and horrified to own a slave.  So many people campaigning for causes had never seen their “cause” in reality.  Charles, he was sure, had never been to a slave market.  He’d likely never seen a slave before Erik.  But if he was working toward mutant rights… he had more respect for the man.

              “So what is she doing now?” Erik found himself asking.  He’d never heard of someone actively agitating for mutant rights.  All the free mutants were too scared, as Charles likely should be, and the humans were apathetic, bigoted, or too afraid as well. 

              “More of the same.  She’s trying to crack down on some slave trader that’s working illegally.  He’s doing some atrocious stuff to his slaves before he trades them evidently, and even in the US, slaves have some rights.  I don’t know much else about it, but I’m sure we’ll know _everything_ by the end of lunch.  Charles and Moira can talk both your ears off.” A glance toward the pair in front of them confirmed that they were both still talking animatedly, Charles’ head leaned in toward Moira, ostensibly to listen better.  They looked quite the pair, Erik couldn’t help but notice.  He brushed off the twinge this gave him.

              He hadn’t had a crush like this since he’d been taken into slavery.  He’d met some people in his work that had been attractive physically, sure.  But their personalities and willingness to take advantage of him made it impossible for him to feel any sort of romantic attraction for them.  Charles, however, seemed to be incapable of perpetrating any ill-action.  Everything he did made Erik more convinced that he was truly a good man, or trying to be.  His vulnerability and casual charm had Erik trapped in a sort of magnetism, unable to take his eyes off the man for any extended period of time.  He couldn’t help but think about him when he wasn’t there.

              He suspected it would die down in a couple of days.  Charles was his savior, after all.  Of course he had feelings for him.  They would pass when Erik saw him not as an ideal but as another man.  Most crushes, he thought, passed once one got to know the object of affection and found that the idea of them did not match the reality.

              “Shall we?” Charles held the door open politely for both Raven and Erik.  It was casual gestures like these that surprised Erik the most.  To Charles, holding the door was a ritual of manners.  To Erik, it was acknowledging him as his equal, something that had been denied to him for over twenty years. 

              They were seated at a luxurious booth and given menus with a large wine list and even larger prices.  They navigated through the usual social niceties: there was a discussion about wine, about if the hour was too early for wine, jokes about Charles being a lush, polite deflection, recommendations on the meal, ordering, discussion of the chef’s many talents, presentation of the wine by the sommelier, the pronouncement of the wine as delectable by Charles and a toast to everyone’s good health.  Erik remained mostly silent, contributing only when Charles glanced at him in an encouraging way as if to prompt him into speaking.  Of course, it worked, so who was he to critique.

              As appetizers were served, the conversation drew around to Moira’s current work.

              “You wouldn’t believe the horrors these traders commit.  I wouldn’t believe them if I hadn’t seen the photos and the abandoned “work spaces”, where they experiment on these young mutants.  This one trader I’m searching for, I think we’ve got a good chance of sentencing him and maybe even freeing his slaves.  He’s killed too many human parents of mutants to either acquire their children or force them into exhibiting their powers for the law to turn a blind eye now.  But he’s got so many aliases and friends high up that he’s slippery as the devil.  He’s been Sebastian Shaw, in New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Connecticut, New York only to change to Klaus Schmidt and pop up in a Vegas nightclub.  He just pops up and disappears.  It’s uncanny.”  Erik couldn’t hear the rest.  He set his glass down before he could shatter the fragile stem.  The metal in the room was singing to him and he couldn’t help it, couldn’t keep his power under wraps, was losing the control he’d so painfully attained.

              He knew exactly the man Moira spoke of.  He could believe the horrors.  He’d experienced the horrors.  The last time he’d seen his parents had been in one of Shaw’s work spaces.  First, his mother, to teach Erik to let go, to use his power.  Then, a couple of weeks later, his father, to teach him to control it.  He wasn’t just a trader.  He was despicable, the stuff of Erik’s nightmares, a eugenicist who loved the mutant slave trade because it allowed him to study and create his own genetic future. 

              He could see it flashing before his eyes: the coin, Shaw telling him “it’s nothing”, the gun, the blood, the coin, the pain, his mother crumpling, his mother encouraging him with fear in her eyes, his failure, his father, the coin, the gun, “it’s nothing”, “Control, Erik”, the gun, the blood, so much blood on stainless steel, the pain of his own failure, of causing both his parents to die because of his lack of control of his genetic capability, Shaw smiling at him as his mother lay bleeding out on the floor, Shaw waking him up in the middle of the night, night after night, to work on his control, beating him, verbally abusing him, the blood-

              _Erik.  Calm your mind._ Charles’ voice cut in, blocking out Shaw’s torment momentarily.  He was shaking, a very fine tremor overtaking his body.  He couldn’t control his hands much less his mind much less his power.  In his mind, he saw his mother, his father, dying again and again.  He looked up and was caught in Charles’ eyes, trapped in a mess of memory and concern.  _You have to let it go, Erik.  I know what this means to you, but let go!_ Something in Charles’ command resonated with Erik and he took a gasping breath and relaxed his clenched fists, attempted to control his power once more.  He’d just lost control worse than he had in a long time.  Shaw would be disgusted.

              No.  He wasn’t going back down that path again.  He cajoled himself mentally, repeating over and over to himself an endless litany of _stop thinking about that!_ until he was capable of obeying his own advice.  He brought himself back together with another rasping breath.

              “Erik? Are you alright?” Moira was asking him as though he was slightly crazy.  It was likely not the first time she’d asked.

              “Yes, sorry.  Choked on the wine.  Tried to drink too fast, I suppose.” He couldn’t tell her the truth, that her casual mention of his own tormentor had brought back too much at once and he’d had a panic attack, likely would still be in the red without Charles, would have made a scene without him and done much more damage. 

              “You chose too well, Charles!  Your good taste almost killed your friend!” Moira joked fluidly with Charles.  “I’m sorry, Erik; I feel as if I’ve been monopolizing the conversation.  How did you and Charles meet again?  At university?” She leaned in, ever the polite listener.  He was at a loss for what to say.  He wasn’t ready to answer these questions, not now. 

              “Yes.  I’m staying with him temporarily.  Getting to know New York.” His words were terse and he cursed himself internally.

              “The old house is much too lonely without company.  Erik is saving me from a long winter alone with only the cold for company.” He envied Charles’ social deftness.  It took so much out of him to be in company, but Charles seemed to thrive under the spotlight. 

              “I keep telling you that you need a dog, Charles!  Maybe a corgi or a little spaniel.  You need company for when you’re working too hard, which is always.  A dog would be good; you’d have to at least get up to feed it.” Moira was teasing again.

              Erik zoned out of the conversation.  Shaw was still at work.  He’d assumed he’d died; he’d be incredibly old by now, at least, but he’d made a lot of enemies before Erik had even met him and he’d assumed one of them had taken him out.  The only thing that had let Erik sleep at night was his assumption that Shaw was dead and that he couldn’t take the vengeance he deserved.  But now he knew he could.  He could avenge his parents and all of the other mutants Shaw had tormented, all of the children he’d irrevocably damaged.  He had to.  He owed it to himself and to his people. 

              This changed things.  He’d had this latent notion that maybe he would spend some time with Charles, be happy for once, figure out what he wanted to do with his life, maybe even get some private schooling.  But now he had a purpose and was fueled by a quietly icy rage.  He’d have to leave soon, steal all of the info Moira had on Shaw and become a fugitive.  He could do it.  He might be recaptured again, but as long as he killed Shaw before, it would be a bargain he was willing to make.

              He planned for the rest of lunch.  It was the first time in his life he could leave, could go where he liked.  The collars he’d worn for the past twenty odd years had prevented that.  Even if he’d gotten one off and run for it, the second he was spotted he would have been tranquilized and had one reattached.  And he wouldn’t have gotten far without someone noticing.  But most of the time he couldn’t even get the collar off.  Most of his previous owners had kept him stripped of his powers.

              That was something he’d have to work on.  His control was more variable now than it had once been, weak and reliant on the assistance of technology to control his own capabilities.  That wouldn’t do. 

              The rest of the day was spent as if in a trance.  He didn’t remember the ride home with Charles and Raven or much after.  He packed up his meager new possessions and went to sleep early, intending to rise before dawn and leave to find Moira. 

              He woke at four and dressed silently, picking up his bags and making his way down the carpeted steps, thankful for the Turkish plush camouflaging the movement of his feet.  He stepped quietly into the kitchen, intending to take a little food for the road.  He felt guilty, more than he’d expected.  He’d been there all of two days and he knew he didn’t really owe Charles much, only gratitude for his hospitality.  But something within him was aching at the thought of leaving without a word to the other man.

              “Take what you please.  The food won’t be missed here.” He jumped; he couldn’t help it.  A sharp turn confirmed Charles as the source of the voice, sitting in another sweater on a stool at the window.  His hands were wrapped around a mug of coffee.  Erik almost smiled at that; it looked like he’d gotten his new machine going.

              “Thank you.” He took some fruit, a couple scones.  Erik could feel Charles’ eyes on his back, the silent acceptance of his departure that was somehow more painful than anger or annoyance would have been.

              “I know it is probably too late to offer, and that you’ve made up your mind most likely, but if you needed help with whatever you’re off to do, I could help you.  It can be very useful to have a telepath.” Charles’ lips quirked slightly.  His face was joking nonchalance, but his eyes didn’t align; they were filled with abashed hopefulness. 

              “Do you know what I’m going to do?  Have you read it?” Erik gestured to his head.  Charles looked slightly hurt.

              “No, of course not.  You’re very aggressively radiating determination to do something, that’s all I can feel.  You have been since lunch.  I would never pry further than that.” Charles took a sip of coffee and turned to look out the window.  “I didn’t mean to put you in the uncomfortable position of having to reject an offer.  I understand that you’ve made up your mind.  I wish you every success and I am always at your disposal.”

              At his disposal, he claimed.  Erik wondered if he knew what he sounded like.  It was much less an uncomfortable position than a painful one.  Saying no to Charles was akin to saying no to a puppy.  He’d already been feeling bad about it, and now Charles was sitting across from him, looking every bit the martyr and asking him to stay.  It was too early in the morning.

              He took a seat at the table and set his bags down beside him.

              “Why don’t you look, then?  See what I’m planning, and why.  And then see if your offer still stands.” Charles’ lips puckered adorably in surprise.  Erik supposed no one had ever invited him to read them before.

              “I’ll try not to read anything else, but I’m warning you that it’s hard to be precise when attempting to read something from someone.  It might help if you thought through it, like a presentation.” Charles sounded entirely clinical now.  It was the scientist in him coming out.

              “Okay.” Charles hesitantly raised two fingers to his temple and shut his eyes.  Erik forced himself to focus on Shaw, doing a brief overview of what he’d experienced.  He was momentarily distracted by Charles’ sharp intake of breath, but he pushed on, thinking through his plans, ultimately culminating in killing Shaw.  When he finished, Charles’ fingers dropped from his temple but his eyes remained shut and his shoulders bowed.

              “Oh, Erik.  I’m so sorry.” Erik bristled at this involuntarily.  He didn’t want Charles’ pity, not now, not ever.  The silence drew on and he turned to gaze out the window at the estate he may soon be leaving.  It had already come to feel like home in a way.  He’d seen the potential of it at least, of living with Charles, being friends if nothing more, working together, playing chess.  It had felt sustainable.

              “I couldn’t kill a man, Erik.” Charles broke the silence at last, raising his gaze to meet Erik’s, the pain in his eyes a mirror of Erik’s own.  “But I could help you find him and see that justice is done.  I just—I was thinking, after yesterday when meeting Moira went so smoothly, that things could change.  I’ve been so resigned, so beaten down that I haven’t tried to change anything.  I tried when I was younger, with Moira, and we were shot down.  But with you, Erik… you have so much passion and anger.  We could create change.  We could reach out to Moira, try to help her.  We could buy the freedom of other mutants, let them live here.  We could create a haven for some while we try to fight for many.  I think we could really make a difference.”

              Charles had such naïve passion.  But there was some truth in his words.  If they had a mutant force, free slaves without collars, trained to harness their capabilities… who knew what they could do.  He could see it, see the potential of their plan for mutant kind.

              And he didn’t doubt that Charles would be valuable helping him find Shaw.  He knew Charles would be essential.

              For a moment, his future glimmered in front of him.  He could see the hope in it, the possibilities.  All dependent on Charles.

              “We can talk to Moira, but no suits.  We find the mutants. To get Shaw, it’s going to take a lot more than some men with guns. He’s got powerful friends. Or, he did, when last I saw him.” He waited for Charles to respond with baited breath.  He could tell that it was a moment of change, a turning point.

              “We’ll find them alone.  And we can talk to Moira about being involved in the takedown.  The last thing I want is for him to slip away, and I’m sure she agrees.  I’m with you, Erik.” Erik was trapped in the intensity of Charles’ gaze for a moment, the two of them sharing the beginning of something much greater.  He could feel it in his bones, a sense of euphoric hope that gave him initiative as only anger had done in the past.  He couldn’t help the smile that spread slowly across his features.  Charles’ expression mirrored his.

              “Is there coffee? We can start planning now.”


End file.
